False Beckoning
by casus17
Summary: Leaving Lafayette doesn't go well, not when random patients at Sam's hospital are suddenly falling into comas and then dying. When Sam's attacked, and Dean tries to get in the way, one brother falls prey. Can the other save him? Follows on AoB.
1. Chapter 1: Latest Acquisition

**FALSE BECKONING **

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, unless wishful thinking counts. As it doesn't with money, I'm thinking not.

**Warning:** Not much swearing throughout, but there will be spoilers for season 1, I don't think it really matters, but there will be, so you know, if you haven't seen season 1… where the hell have you been?

**Author's Note:** I just finished this, really wanted to get it posted tonight. It's the follow-on to Art of Betrayal. Hope you like. Oh, just a warning, postings might not exactly be constant, considering I work three nights a week, on top of working every weekday (yes I'm mad), so if there's no post one night, don't worry too much. Oh, you can if you want, but you know, no biggie!

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Chapter 1: Latest Acquisition

Jarrod Conway sat up slightly in the bed, smiling at his doctor as the woman came in, face buried in a folder. He winced slightly, the result of having his appendix removed, but that pain was slowly diminishing. Slowly.

"What's up, doc?" he asked, grinning. "Come to say goodbye?"

Doctor Beaumont lowered the folder, and Jarrod's grin lowered as well. She wasn't looking happy, though she wasn't unhappy either. Rather, she was perplexed.

"What's the problem?" Jarrod asked carefully. She sighed.

"I'm not really sure," she told him, and the man raised his eyebrows. Beaumont was one of the best doctors in the Lafayette Hospital, and it wasn't like he had had anything major. An appendectomy wasn't the toughest job in the world. "I just got your test results back, from the blood we took this morning."

"The ones that you took even though you were releasing me?" Jarrod interrupted, feeling that sense of cabin fever again. Beaumont nodded.

"Yeah, those ones. There's something odd about them."

"What is it?" he demanded. He really didn't want to spend any more time in the hospital.

She finally looked at him, rather than perusing the results that had her so confused. "I don't know. I need to draw more blood, test you again. If you don't mind. But I'm not sure how serious this is, and I don't want to release you until I'm sure it's nothing."

Jarrod sighed, leaning back in the bed. Looked like he was going to be here a bit longer.

* * *

That night found Jarrod curled up in the hospital bed. He faced the window, eyes screwed tight with pain, but unable to gather the strength to push the button to call for help. It was like every inch of him weighed a tonne, all resonating from the aching boulder that seemed to be in his stomach.

He gave a cry as something jabbed in his stomach once more. It was worse, he had decided, than any pain he had endured while his appendix was threatening to blow. Worse than anything he had ever felt before.

Opening his eyes slowly and panting heavily, the room swam, his vision blurry and unstable. He cried out again, wanting to curl up further, but unable. Not of his own will, his eyes fell closed once more, and then he fell into pain.

His eyes opened, again unwillingly, some time later, and this time the room seemed darker, like the hall lights had turned off, and the moon had disappeared. But he knew he wasn't alone.

Something touched his shoulder and he would have jumped if he had had the strength, or the ability to do more than breathe and cry with pain. It ached like nothing he had ever experienced before, but he could do little more than whimper. The hand rolled him over.

He began to scream, but he never got the chance. The figure, eyes lit up in the dark room, leaned over, so quick that Jarrod knew it wasn't human. Hell, the eyes were enough evidence of that, shining as bright as the moon had been.

This analysis came in less than a second before it was over him, face all but inches from his own. And Jarrod stared deep into its shining eyes, mouth open in a silent scream.

And then he felt something, saw it out of the bottom of his eye. A power, or a mist, something burning the same colour as the thing's eyes. And as his scream finally found voice, it was smothered by the brightness forcing its way into his mouth.

His scream turned to a haunting song as something forced its way into his head, stifling everything and all as it sank into his mind. And then the song cut off, Jarrod collapsed into himself and the moon reappeared, giving light to a now motionless room.

* * *

Dean waved as the red Ford disappeared into the bustle of the road, and then heaved a sigh of relief. He owed Ash and Anya his life, and Sam's, but the kids were annoying. Plus they kept on reminding him of how much older than them he was. They made him feel old. Not a feeling he was used to, or particularly liked.

He turned back to the hospital, smiling up at it. It was a good day. Back to being him and Sammy. And soon, back to being him and Sammy on the road, them against the world, which was even better.

Because, finally, after a week recovering in the freaking hospital, Sam was being released that day – it was the only reason Ash and Anya had agreed to leave, helped by a phone call from some relative with a new job for them. Doctor Ellis wasn't exceptionally pleased, but Sam was all but refusing to stay unless they pulled out some reason for him not to. And maybe not even then.

Dean entered the warm building, shrugging under his jacket as the heat seeped into him. He couldn't keep the smile off his face; he really did hate these buildings, but he wouldn't have to suffer it much longer. And others noticed, smiling as he walked past, as if his good mood was contagious. A few nurses, ones he had gotten to know as Sam was shifted around from ICU to a normal ward and then to rehab, nodded as he walked past, but he strode by too quickly for any conversation. He just wanted to get Sam and get the hell out of Dodge. They had been in this city for too damn long, and he was itching for a new hunt. He knew Sam was as well. Just one Joshua didn't send them on. The guy's jobs seemed to go badly.

He was maybe half way to Sam's room when he felt it. A pit formed in his stomach, a bad feeling. And after so many years in the job – as Anya and Ash had continually reminded him by their very presence – he knew enough not to ignore it.

And then the lights started flickering.

* * *

Sam sat cross-legged in his hospital bed, slowly moving his shoulder around. It was still stiff from rehab the day before, but he tried not to show it. At least it didn't hurt anymore. It was healing nicely after being shot.

He still had it in a sling, but it was the only reminder of his time in Mahone's cells. At least, the only physical reminder. All bruises were gone, though he had a neat scar on his hip from the second bullet. His heart was as good as new, like his lungs. All he had to do was wait for his shoulder to get a little stronger and he would be back to hunting in no time.

He sighed contentedly, enjoying the silence while it lasted. At times his hospital room had seemed incredibly crowded, for all the nurses had tried to shove rest down his throat. Now Anya and Ash were gone, and he would miss them. Still, he couldn't help but be a little thankful. The twins were like kids with too much red cordial in them or something. No, silence was, as the saying went, golden.

A knock at the door reminded him just how golden, as Morgan appeared at the door.

"Hey, how you doing?" the cop asked as he came in without asking. Sam didn't mind. Dean and the cop had actually become pretty good… well, friend was probably too strong a word, but acquaintances, or allies. Sam shrugged, forcing back a grin when his shoulder didn't even twinge.

"Yeah, not bad," he answered, crossing his legs. "Ready to leave."

Morgan grinned. "Yeah, I bet. You must be getting antsy…" He trailed off as a shadow flickered across Sam's face. "What is it?"

The hunter shook his head. "I don't know," he answered absently, uncrossing his legs and getting out of bed. "Just be quiet for a moment."

He stood steadily on the floor, ignoring the cold on his bare feet. He had long gotten over any indignity about wearing the hospital issue pyjamas. At least it wasn't a robe.

But that wasn't what had him in a bother now. His head twitched, and he felt something press on his mind. Almost like…

Almost like the poltergeist back in Lawrence. He frowned, looking around. And then he felt it. A pit growing in his stomach. And apparently he wasn't the only one.

Morgan gave a frown, putting a hand to his stomach. Sam looked at him piercingly. "You feel that?" he asked the part-time hunter. Morgan nodded.

"I got a bad feeling," the cop answered, shaking his head. Sam nodded.

"You and me both," he said quietly. And then he walked out of the room. Morgan followed wordlessly.

Sam wasn't sure what he was following, just that he was on a trail that had no physical traces. Following the freaky signals in his head. Following his gut. He paused at a side corridor.

And then the lights began flickering.

He and Morgan shared a knowing look, and continued on their way, ignoring the strange looks of those they passed. It seemed everyone was feeling what they were feeling, all to various degrees. Most frowned as they felt it, something niggling at the back of their mind. Rare was it to find someone with enough knowledge to know something wasn't right when they felt that pit forming.

They didn't have far to go, Sam knew, when they bumped into Dean. He gave them both a questioning glance, and Sam nodded, knowing exactly what his older brother was asking. Yeah, they both felt it too.

Sam took the lead subconsciously, though Dean frowned as the younger man showed an uncanny knack for knowing where they were going. Morgan just shrugged at him when Dean shot him a glance.

Sam took three more turns before he paused, looking around. The corridor seemed strangely empty all of a sudden, and eerily quiet. Sam put a finger to his lips, motioning for silence. Dean rolled his eyes.

The younger man tiptoed on bare feet to a door about halfway down the corridor, pausing once more. All three listened intently, and then Morgan flinched back.

Dean wasn't far behind, hearing the disturbing sounds coming from the room. A strange, haunting cry, and whimpers, groans, of pain, of fear… of lust and satisfaction. Sam leaned back somewhat slower, but his eyes were no less horrified.

Then, gaze swinging from the other two men to the door, he put his hand on the handle, and, thoughtless of what might be behind the barrier, shoved the door open. He barrelled in, regardless of Dean's sudden cry of, "Sam!"

The younger man took two stumbling steps in before coming to a shocked halt. A black figure seemed to consume the very light of the room, one monstrous black shape that filled his sight. Sam gasped and the thing turned up to look at him. What looked like silver blood dripped from where its mouth should have been, shining too brightly against its shadowy form.

And then he looked down.

"Oh God!" Morgan cried, sounding sick and turning away. Sam couldn't, paralysed by what he was witnessing.

A girl lay under the shadow, stiff and tense, green eyes brimming with unshed tears of pain and fear. She was incredibly thin, bony, like she had been ill for a long time. But her eyes… Sam couldn't take his gaze from them, as he met that green-eyed stare, saw past the terror and the hurt, and found pleading in a form so simple that it shook him. She didn't want to die, and it was so plain it almost felt more real than anything else in the room.

He couldn't tear his gaze from hers, hypnotized by them so that he felt sleepy, his mind foggy. His surroundings all but disappeared, and he felt like he was floating on nothing and everything else was surreal. Everything but those green eyes begging him to save her.

"Sam!"

The gut-wrenching cry pulled him from the distance he had fallen, and he looked around slowly, head feeling heavy now that he had torn his eyes from hers. And then he saw it. The black shadow coming at him.

A weight hit him and they both fell, Sam wincing as he landed on his injured shoulder. The shadow passed over them, and Sam watched it go, zooming past Morgan who flinched away. And then it imploded, pulling in on itself until it was gone.

Sam took a deep breath from where he was laying on the floor, suddenly feeling like he had sprinted miles. Dean got off of him, muttering under his breath, but Sam shook his head and ignored it, taking his brother's hand to get off the floor.

"What the hell was that?" Morgan spat from his spot leaning against the door. The cop looked confused. Dean shrugged, but Sam ignored that too. He looked to the bed.

And sighed. The girl's eyes were closed once more, her chest not moving. And the monitors were showing nothing. No sign of life. She was dead.

"We didn't get here soon enough," Sam said out loud, voice trembling. Dean caught it and came to stand by his side.

"Dammit," the older man whispered, looking around. "Come on, we should get out of here."

Sam had to be dragged away, missing the concerned look Dean gave him. He couldn't get the poor girl's eyes out of his head. She had been so absolutely terrified that it cut deep that he had failed her. That he hadn't saved her. She had been begging him, pleading with those eyes… and he had only stood there, doing nothing, paralysed by… he didn't know what. Something in his head had been screwing around.

"Sam, you okay?" Dean asked as they rounded a corner. The younger man didn't get a chance to answer, as a distressed scream filled the corridor. Sam flinched, and Dean began dragging him away again. They couldn't get caught up in this. Not yet. Though the chance of leaving Lafayette by nightfall was looking slim.

Dean pushed Sam down on the bed, taking the chair as Sam seemed to regain enough composure to sit down, taking a slight hold on his shoulder. Dean mentally winced as he realized he had tackled Sam so he fell on that shoulder.

"Sam?" Dean asked, leaning forward. His little brother looked at him. "You okay?" he asked again.

Sam nodded, then shook his head. "We couldn't help her, Dean."

Dean sighed, looking up at Morgan. The cop nodded, getting the picture and excusing himself.

"Sam," Dean began as he heard the cop's footsteps retreat. "You've said it yourself, we're not going to save everyone. It didn't help that we only just stumbled on it."

Sam nodded, easing back in the bed. "I know. It's just… she was so scared. The way she looked at me, like I was the only thing that could possibly save her, as if nothing else was there…" He trailed off before he got too emotional. But Dean frowned.

"Sam, what are you talking about?" he demanded, standing up. "How could she have been looking at you?"

Sam shot him a look, eyebrows high, as if Dean had said something terrible. "You're kidding me right? Didn't you see her eyes?"

Dean's jaw dropped. "Her eyes?" he repeated. "How could I? Her eyes were closed, Sam."

Sam looked like something large and solid hit him. "No they weren't," he insisted. "I saw them, she had green eyes… she was scared, Dean. Terrified. Hurting."

Dean shook his head. "Sam, her eyes were closed. I swear, they were."

"And I swear they were open!" the younger hunter snapped. "I'm not delusional, Dean. I saw them, open."

A chill ran through Dean. "Are you sure?"

Once more Sam didn't get a chance to answer, didn't get a chance to ask whether Dean was talking about his sanity or not. A knock at the door made them both jump, and Doctor Ellis entered, looking between the brothers and obviously uncomfortable, as if he knew he had entered something that was meant to be private.

"Uh, hi," the doctor greeted, eyeing Dean as the hunter sat down in the chair. Sam smiled at him.

"Hey, doc. What can we do for you? Or you about to crush my hopes?" he asked, actually joking, feeling that rush he did every time he thought about finally getting out of the hospital.

And then that rush died as Ellis frowned, clearly about to impart some news that was not so good. Sam wasn't the only one to catch it either, thinking maybe Ellis wasn't about to joke about it.

"What's the matter?" Dean demanded of Ellis, pulling his knuckle away from his mouth where it had been resting. The doctor sighed.

"I ran the blood I took this morning," the man told them both, giving each a stare. Sam nodded, but didn't interrupt. "And it came back showing some… irregularities."

"What irregularities?" Sam asked in a flat voice. His heart was thumping and his gut was sinking. He really didn't want to hear this. Especially when Ellis sighed again.

"That's the thing," the doctor began. "I'm not sure. I'd like to run some more, just to make sure it's nothing dangerous. But we're not sure what it is…"

"Which means…" Dean began. Sam finished the sentence for him, leaning back in the bed with a huff.

"Which means you want me to stay longer," Sam summed up, staring at Ellis. "Right?"

The man nodded, though he was not happy about it. "Sorry. I know how much you want to leave. It's just, after what Mahone did… we don't want to take any chances with you."

Sam frowned. "It's been a week," he pointed out. "Do you really think it could be something from that?"

Ellis paused, weighing his words. And then he sighed once more. "I'll be straight with you, Sam. I don't, not really. But," and at this he looked at Dean as well. "But I don't want to take chances."

Sam sagged slightly, but nodded. "Fine. I'll stay." He shared a look with Dean. "It's not like we're going anywhere, anyway."

He ignored Dean's pointed stare and Ellis' confusion, and laid down. He was feeling a little tired anyway.

Ellis seemed to sense it, muttering something to Dean before leaving. Dean stayed for a few minutes, but stood up when it became obvious Sam wasn't interested in a conversation. He mumbled something about going to check some stuff out before he left the room.

Sam sighed and rolled onto his back, wincing slightly as his shoulder disagreed with the movement. He put his other hand behind his head.

He didn't mind about staying another night, not really. It would give them a chance to hang around the hospital a while longer. Actually, it was a blessing in disguise. Any supernatural events in this hospital would have been hard to investigate considering most of the staff knew him or Dean, and knew they weren't CDC or cops or anything like that. And he desperately wanted to investigate that girl with the green eyes.

Because whatever Dean said, he had seen those eyes open. And if Dean hadn't, Sam was guessing that meant only one thing.

Something psychic was afoot.


	2. Chapter 2: Fallen

**Author's Note:** Thanks to those who reviewed, it means sooo much! Hope you like this next chapter!

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Chapter 2: Fallen

Dean came back mid-afternoon, finding Sam still in his bed and asleep. He smiled, watching over his sleeping brother, and being careful not to wake him. He took the chair and leaned back, knowing what he had found out could wait. Especially when it came to Sam's health.

He had cornered Ellis before he could leave the ward, questioning him hard about Sam's 'irregularities'. The doctor hadn't been any more specific, which frustrated Dean to no end. He had to admit though, the man looked exhausted. Really exhausted. He had been working hard, for which he was grateful.

A few hours later, Sam groaned in his sleep before opening his eyes. They came to rest on Dean immediately, before the younger hunter sat up, rubbing his eyes.

"What time is it?" he asked, looking out the window. Dean shrugged and leaned forward, chucking aside a magazine on cars.

"About five. How you feeling?"

Like every time in the past week, his question was met with an eye roll. "I'm fine Dean. You can quit asking."

Dean ignored it, like he had every time in the past week. "So I cornered Ellis about your test results. Said he couldn't be more sure until he ran the second lot of blood, about what was going on with you."

Sam nodded, crossing his legs. "They took it while you were out. Where'd you go?"

Plainly, Sam didn't want to talk about it. Dean let him change the subject. "I went to find out about that girl who died."

Sam's back straightened, and he lost any regret at not being let out of hospital. "And?" he demanded.

"And," Dean said slowly. "Her name was Rebecca Lonsdale. Twenty-one. She was in a coma before this afternoon. Had been in one for ten days." He defiantly didn't point out the fact that her eyes couldn't have been open.

"Why?" Sam asked, frowning.

Dean shrugged. "I don't know. And neither do the doctors. They had no clue. One minute she was in recovery from a car accident, almost ready to be released… next she's in a coma, and no one has any idea why. And she's not the only one."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, lowering his voice, knowing the door was open.

Dean copied him, keeping his voice quiet. "I mean, another five people, in the past couple of months, have slipped into comas for no apparent reason. The most recent one was a Jarrod Conway. Went into it a week ago."

Sam frowned. "A week? How come we didn't notice?"

Dean shrugged. "It was the night we killed the demon. I wasn't here, and you were unconscious. Bit hard to do it."

Sam nodded, leaning back. "So you think the same thing got them as got this Rebecca Lonsdale?"

Dean shrugged. "Maybe. I mean, the four other people who were in comas, and who died, they all died about ten days after they went into comas. Just died suddenly, out of nowhere, as suddenly as they went into them."

"And no one could find out why?"

"No one could find out why," Dean confirmed. "It's really got the docs stumped. They had the CDC in after the third, and they couldn't find anything, it's not an infection of some kind, no disease, nothing. No one's found any neurological problems. No one has any clue. One doctor said it's like they're all in a really deep sleep."

"So, what, they just slip into comas? Fall over all of a sudden?"

Dean shook his head. "No, every one of them has been in hospital beforehand. Rebecca was here after a car accident, this Conway guy was here to get his appendix removed. One of the others was here for heart surgery. Everything went fine, until the day he was going to be released, and he went into a coma. Half your luck, huh?"

Sam nodded, pursing his lips thoughtfully. "So what are you thinking?"

Dean shrugged. "Don't know yet. I think we need to find out more. See if there have been others, before this year, find out more symptoms from each victim… we just need more details."

Sam nodded again. "We should talk to the doctors about them all. That won't be hard I guess, seeing as I'm still here. We won't have to make up an alias."

"True," Dean shrugged, not looking comforted at that. "But leave most of it to me, get yourself better."

Sam gave a snort before he could stop himself. "I am better. Seriously, I feel fine, Dean. I don't know what bullshit Ellis is spouting, but I'm better. Besides, you know you need my help."

Dean frowned at him. "Whatever." He checked his watch. He still didn't mention the girl's open/closed eyes. "Well, maybe tomorrow. For now, I've got to get back to the motel, before they chuck me out of here. They're not so lenient on letting me stay now your up and about and bitching."

He got to his feet with a wide smile for Sam. "I'll do some more research tonight, see what kind of thing could cause a coma for no apparent reason. I'll make a few calls, and I'll see you tomorrow."

Sam waved bye as his older brother left the room, before flopping back for sigh, sure he was in for a long night.

He had no idea.

* * *

The room was dark when Sam woke some time that night. Not an unearthly dark; rather, the dark of night, with the clouds hiding the bright moon and the hospital eerily quiet.

For a moment Sam wasn't sure what had woken him. He rolled over onto his back, trying not to bump his shoulder, and searched the shadowy room with hunter's eyes. There was nothing unusual about the place at all.

And then he gave a sharp groan, putting a hand to his head as his very brain throbbed. A machine groaned with him, but he barely heard it, blinking back sudden tears of pain as the throb subsided somewhat.

He sat up, taking a deep breath, his first since his head had apparently tried to explode. Looking through blurry eyes, he glanced around again, but quickly closed his eyes as the throb hit him again, more painful. He gave a cry of pain, flinching away from the nothingness in front of him and putting his hand once more to his face.

The ache drained away once more, leaving him panting and tired. He leaned forward, hunching over, before crying out once more as his head exploded.

Only this time it didn't stop, just continued to drum from the core of his brain. He groaned again, forcing his eyes open as he tried to get a glimpse of what was happening. What was causing this?

But there was nothing there… only it couldn't be a vision, because a vision had never threatened for this long. It would have erupted by now, leaving him inert on the bed. It couldn't be a vision, even if his head was all but on fire.

He rolled over slightly, crying out as the very air bumped him, sending a cascade of pain through his head, rolling out in waves from the centre of his mind.

He tried to ignore it, though ignoring what felt like several herds of elephants stampeding over his brain was turning out to be a lot harder than it sounded. But he blinked through the blurred vision, enough to make out the several stands beside his bed and the two or three phones upon them.

His hand fumbled as he tried to grab it, one thought and one thought only clear in his mind: ring Dean. Something was going terribly wrong, and no one in the hospital seemed aware of it. It couldn't be something normal.

His head throbbed again and he accidentally dropped the phone before he could press any numbers. It clattered ominously on the floor, sending spikes of agony coursing through the nerves in his mind, making him cry out once more, nearly screaming, as he rolled over and reached down for the phone with his injured arm.

Panting, heaving, sure he was going to pass out any second as his head fought him, he grabbed the phone and pulled it back to him, hands clammy but tight over the device. As he collapsed back on his bed, sweating, heaving, the pressure behind his eyes grew until he was sure he could stand no more.

It was only as his fingers slid over the shaking phone – or was that his hand trembling – that he smelt it. Only as he paused, finger over what he hoped was the right number, as he cried out once more, that he finally caught a whiff.

Sulphur.

* * *

The ringing of a phone intruded rudely on his dream and as he grasped consciousness, Dean felt the good time slip through the webs in his mind like water through fingers. Grumbling over the loss of what he couldn't remember, he reached out blindly for the heavy tune he liked so much and looked at the screen flashing desperately at him.

Sammy calling.

Stomach lurching, and the mad desire to giggle over Sam's identity in his phone book clutching him, he pressed hard on the answer button and pushed the phone to his ear. Immediately he heard crackling.

"Sam, what's wrong?" Dean demanded, shouting, uncaring if anyone woke up because of the cry.

"Dean –." Sam's voice came over the static-filled line, but Dean knew not all of the cracking in his brother's voice came from the interference. Sam was hurting, and something was wrong.

"Sam, are you there?" the older hunter cried as he heard the line nearly drop out, the static filling his ears and making him flinch away. "Sam, can you hear me!"

It was a desperate order, but it worked, and Sam's voice came back over the line. "Dean – hear -." There was a slight pause. "Dean – head – hur-."

A wail came over the line and Dean jumped, knowing that it hadn't come from his brother. And knowing the thud and cry that came next had.

"Dean!" Sam cried, his voice breaking up under the static. "Dammit – Dean – demon!"

And the line went dead.

Giving a horrified gasp as the entire call washed over him, Dean took a second, only a second, to jump out of bed, hand tracing its way over the touch lamp adorning his motel room. The sudden light near blinded him, but he moved about uncaring of the shadows fighting across his vision. He stubbed a toe and hopped about as he pulled his jeans on, not bothering to lace his boots, and randomly putting a shirt on. A minute later, only a minute but still a minute too long, the Impala was tearing from the motel parking lot on the well covered track to the hospital.

He skidded to a halt some time later, his mind having already covered and recovered every possible scenario it could think up in the short drive. He parked across several spaces, still uncaring, and threw open the door. The hospital loomed silently, unforgivingly above him.

The receptionist looked up at him as he raced through, rising slightly before recognising him and giving him a frown. But she looked tired, and must have felt it too, because she sat back down and turned to her paperwork.

Somehow he avoided anyone else in his frantic run up two flights of stairs and through countless corridors. The hallways were bright, a lot brighter than the thoughts in his head as slowed his pace slightly, counting the door numbers before coming to a pause before Sam's. The door was closed.

Summoning his strength, he lifted a leg and kicked out. The door gave way before him and he leapt into the unnaturally dark room, the sudden light intruding on a scene that would have made him gag if it hadn't been his baby brother.

Sam was on the floor, apparently unconscious, sprawled, head lolling. A haunting note seemed to be coming from his mouth, from his head, from everywhere and nowhere. The dropped cell phone lay a few inches from his outstretched arm.

That on its own would have been enough to pummel Dean. But seeing the black shadow on top of him, seeing its mouth snap close and a silvery, dark light seep back into it, stopped him dead in his tracks. The shadow, the very same being that had been in Rebecca Lonsdale's room, shrieked and drew away at the light from the corridor, giving the impression of blinking through it didn't in fact have eyes. And then it stared at Dean, who refused to break its unseeing gaze.

And then, as Sam's musical, unconscious scream dwindled to a close, they both moved.

Dean took the last few steps into the room, and the door slammed to a shut behind him. The darkness blinded him, and he felt absently for the gun in his jacket, knowing without a doubt that the bullets in it would be useless against the shadow demon. Not when it was in its element, the pitch black that infused everything, like the light had been sucked from the air.

And then suddenly, everything went black, really went black, and he was the one crying out with a beautiful, haunting, terrible note that struck every cord in his soul as he began drowning in his own mind.

* * *

When Sam tried to wake, it wasn't easy. Unsure whether he was waking, truly waking or not, he let his eyelids flutter open nonetheless, heart beating anxiously as he prepared to study the world he had possibly fallen into.

He was back in his bed and the light of the sun drifted across his face, playing softly in the room. He gave a groan, feeling a bruise on his hip and shoulder, while his shot shoulder felt tender, almost newly wounded.

Letting his eyes open determinedly, he looked around.

He wasn't in the same room he had been in as he went to sleep. For a moment that seemed to confirm everything, before thought struggled into existence. The demon had been drowning him, drowning him in his own mind, trying to shut off the possibility of reality and giving him a horrid dream in which he had been sure to die. But he knew of that possibility, and if the demon had succeeded at sending him into that dream world, surely he wouldn't know about the chance that this room was completely in his mind.

His head gave a defiant throb as he tried to think and he gave up, struggling to a sitting position. He tested his shoulder gingerly, noticing a new sling. Then, ignoring the protests of his head, he tried to remember what had happened.

He had woken, and his head had exploded. Okay, so that was an exaggeration, but only just. Then he had smelt sulphur, the telltale sign of a demon. He had called Dean, and then it had attacked, a monstrous shadow that had been forcing something into him. The foundations for the dream reality it had tried to impress on his mind.

Snatches of that reality flicked across his memory, and he turned away, shuddering. In it everyone he had loved was dead, and he had been alone… he didn't want to think about it, and turned mentally away, thinking of what he remembered next.

Something had changed. He had been fighting the demon, struggling to stop it from implanting that reality in his mind. And then it had stopped. It had left, left him drifting into unconsciousness… and then he had woken up moments ago.

Dean. That was the only explanation. Dean had shown up and made the demon leave. He had fought it off of his little brother and saved Sam's ass yet again. The younger hunter gave a weak grin as he realized he yet again owed Dean his life.

But where was Dean now? Sam turned to the stand beside his bed, glad to see there was only one once more. But his cell was gone. Grin turning to a frustrated frown, he ripped the covers off and swung his legs over the side.

Before he could get to his feet though, the door to his room opened and he looked up with gratitude as Dean –

It wasn't Dean, but Doctor Ellis. Sam's smile turned upside down once more, and he gave the doctor a questioning glance. But Ellis was the first one to speak.

"Sam, what are you doing?" the man asked quietly, and Sam was already half back in bed before he recognised the tone. The man never raised his voice, but somehow managed to give orders in questions. Stubborn, and knowing he looked more than half a fool, Sam let his legs dangle over the side, bringing them back around. Ellis gave him a raised eyebrow.

"You shouldn't be out of bed," the man admonished, coming closer. He was keeping his eyes downcast, and Sam was unaware it was because he knew just how good the Winchesters – or McKinleys as he knew them – were at reading body language and eyes.

"Why not?" Sam asked, noticing the deliberate act of holding back from the doctor. He frowned. "What happened?"

Ellis looked up, eyebrows raised. "Actually, I was hoping you could tell me."

Sam shook his head. "I don't know," he lied.

Ellis sighed. "So you don't remember your attacker?" he asked hopefully.

Sam gave him a cautious look, wondering what the hell Dean had told everyone. "What attacker?" he asked after a moment.

Ellis shrugged, looking away slightly once more. "We figure someone broke into your room. Your door was locked when we got there, from the outside. There was a gun on the floor, next to Dean. His nu -."

Sam cut him off, looking up. "What do you mean, next to Dean?" he demanded somewhat breathlessly.

Ellis was suddenly guilty. "Dean… he's… We're not sure, exactly, what's wrong with him. If your attacker poisoned him in some way, it's not showing up in his blood…" Seeing Sam didn't seem to be following, Ellis sighed. "Sam, Dean's in a coma."

* * *

It's all happening now. Next chapter quite possibly up tomorrow!


	3. Chapter 3: Battle Lines Drawn

**Author's Note:** Sorry this is heaps later than usual, I went to post when I got home from work last night, after promising I'd post then, and my internet was not being nice.

I should have mentioned earlier, this story is set sometime near the start of season 2, so Sam has no idea about… well, I guess I won't say exactly what just in case you've been hidden under a rock. But he doesn't know the details of what John told Dean in IMTOD. John's just died (see my story Tortured Soul for how) and the brother's are getting on with life. You don't need to have read the previous stories for understanding, but I do use and mention my own characters used in previous stories.

So now all that completely boring clarification is out of the way, on with the show!

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Chapter 3: Battle Lines Drawn

If it weren't for the slightly pale features, Dean could have been sleeping. Okay, so he didn't move, and he didn't respond, but he was breathing by himself, and he looked peaceful. He just wasn't there, and Sam could feel that gaping hole, courtesy of his freaky little head. He knew he never would have recognised it though – you didn't know what you had until you lost it.

The change of positions, with Dean unconscious in the bed, and Sam waiting in the chair by the bed, wasn't exactly something new to either Winchester, but the younger couldn't help but feel it was wrong. Just like he knew Dean would have felt if the demon had managed to finish drowning Sam in that new reality. Because they were meant to be gone. They were meant to be on the road, sitting in the Impala, bitching at each other, heading for nowhere, or for the next job, or just anywhere, somewhere.

But they were still in this freaking hospital, and the sun outside wreaked havoc with that insane desire to be back on the road, just following that ball of warmth above them in search of a new hunt.

He sighed and shifted in the hard chair, not knowing how Dean had put up with it in the past week. The room was silent, far too silent, oppressive and ominous, and Sam itched to just blast one of Dean's tapes to see if that would wake him up, singing along to Metallica even as he rose from sleep.

He didn't, but shifted once more, aware that there were two cops waiting outside to talk to him about the 'person' who had attacked him last night. That one of them was Morgan didn't help, because the other still had no clue.

At least Sam did. Thanks to the demon's failed attack on himself, he knew what it was. He just wished he knew how to stop it, because the thing wasn't corporeal, and he had never come across them before in his life. Even John had thought them mere fantasy.

Showed what they knew.

Sighing and standing up, he prepared himself to face the cops. They were the first thing he had to get rid of. The second being these ridiculous hospital pyjamas. The third being the demon.

He paused though, before he turned for the door, looking down at Dean's motionless face. Ten days, he reminded himself. That was how long he had to save Dean. It was all the time on the world, in more ways than one.

That bastard of a demon had no idea who it was messing with.

* * *

The cops turned as one as Sam emerged from the room, Morgan taking the pad and pen from his pocket. The hunter closed the door carefully behind him, though if he had given way to urge, he would have slammed it, just to see if that woke Dean up.

"Morning, Mr McKinley," the other cop greeted. Sam nodded back. "I'm Officer Davis. I think you know Officer Morgan."

Sam nodded again. "Can we make this quick?" he asked. "I need to get back to my brother."

"Or back to your own bed, maybe," Davis pointed out, taking in Sam's attire. "I hear you didn't exactly come out unscathed."

Sam stared at him coldly. "Better than my brother, officer," he nearly spat, trying hard to catch Morgan's eye. Davis backed off slightly, aware he had touched a sore spot.

"Okay, we'll do this fast," Morgan told him. "What happened last night?"

Sam shrugged, wincing as his shoulder gave a twinge. The demon attack certainly hadn't helped. "I was sleeping," he began truthfully. "I woke, my head was hurting, really badly." He knew the machines attached to him had told that story as well. "I was close to passing out when I realized something was wrong. The machines around me were beeping, but no one was coming. So I called Dean."

He sighed and looked away, almost wishing he hadn't dialled the freaking number. "I barely got the chance to tell him something was wrong when the room went dark. And then someone attacked me. I lost the call, tumbled out of bed… I don't remember anything else. I fell unconscious, woke up this morning."

Morgan nodded, finishing his notes. But Davis had questions. "So you don't know what this guy looked like?"

Sam shook his head. "Like I said, it was dark, and I was unconscious pretty quick. Besides, my head felt like it was going to explode."

Davis paused a moment, then nodded. Sam could tell he wasn't entirely convinced. But he looked to the door behind which Dean was in a coma.

"And why'd you call your brother, and not the hospital security?" he asked. "They were closer."

Sam shrugged, letting his chin lift slightly. "I wasn't exactly thinking straight. I'd like to see you think at all, with what my head was doing. Besides, I trust Dean more."

Davis nodded, and turned to Morgan. "I think that's all we need."

Morgan nodded, catching Sam's eye. "Yeah, that should do it. We'll leave you to go back to your brother now."

The glint in his eyes clearly said he would be back. Davis looked back to Sam. "If you think of anything, give us a call."

The two cops turned and left, muttering between themselves as they did. Sam sighed and turned back to Dean's door. But he didn't go through. First he needed to find Ellis and get himself checked out. He couldn't hunt in hospital pyjamas.

It wasn't hard to find Ellis. He was bent over at the reception desk, frowning and muttering to himself. As Sam got closer, he realized it was a report. As he found out a moment later, it was _his_ report.

"Doctor Ellis?" Sam asked as he stopped close by, voice laced with concern. Ellis jumped, spinning and giving a small gasp.

"Sam, sorry, you scared me," he looked the hunter up and down, and Sam was surprised to see faint lines of exhaustion etched in his face. "What can I do for you?"

"I want to sign myself out," he told the doctor, getting straight to the point. "And I don't care about any 'blood tests' or what -."

Ellis interrupted him by nodding shortly and looked back at the report. "That's fine, I understand… I mean…"

"What is it?" Sam asked when Ellis didn't keep up his sentence. The doctor sighed and pushed the folder over. Sam looked down at a language he didn't really understand.

"This is your blood work, I got it back just before," he told the hunter.

Sam frowned, knowing there was no way he was going to understand. He shrugged. "I don't get it," he told Ellis, who made a small noise in the back of his throat.

"Okay, so yesterday, your blood was… off. There was something there, in it, and the second blood tests confirmed it."

"What was it?" Sam asked, frown deepening. Especially when Ellis shrugged.

"I don't know. The guys at the lab didn't know. No one is sure. And I mean, no one."

He shuffled a few papers while Sam digested this little tidbit, a new thought forming. But then Ellis shoved a second sheet under his nose and pointed to some random line. "See this," he said. "This is your blood work that I got back this morning, the ones I took after your attack last night. And that irregularity I was worried about?"

Sam looked between the two. "It's gone," he realized. "Whatever was in there, it isn't anymore."

Ellis nodded. "I know. And I don't know of anything that breaks down that quick. I mean, a few drugs do, but… You're fine. One hundred percent okay. Well, maybe not that much, but… I'd like to run some more, if that's okay," he added, hearing Sam's own small noise. "But I'll give you the forms. I'm guessing you're not going anywhere, not with Dean… If anything comes up, you'll be close at hand."

Sam nodded, brain whirling. "Did Rebecca Lonsdale have irregularities in her blood, before she went into her coma?" he asked without thinking.

Ellis paused, going slightly pale. "How do you know about her?" he asked somewhat breathlessly. Sam mentally slapped himself for being so blunt about it.

"I heard she died," Sam lied with a shrug. "And then I heard a nurse talking about her, about how Dean's coma is so like hers. I mean, they both fell into comas without warning. Dean's got no wound, nothing, no reason to be unconscious. And I heard she was the same."

The doctor sighed, nodding and rubbing his eyes. "Yeah, she was. I don't know any specifics, I wasn't her doctor. Sorry, I can't tell you if she was the same. Doctor-patient confidentiality and all that. Do you think maybe the same thing happened to Rebecca?"

Sam shrugged. "I'm no cop, but if there was no reason for it…" He trailed off, letting Ellis think up the rest. "Just the way she died, and the way she went into a coma… a little too like Dean to be a coincidence."

Ellis shrugged, appearing to struggle somewhat. "Like I said, I wasn't her doctor, I don't know much."

But as Sam took the forms away, pen in hand, he knew Ellis would be looking into it. Just like Sam. He had two names, Rebecca Lonsdale, and Jarrod Conway. And they were both in comas. That night he would be breaking into a certain records room, looking them up… seeing if they had been targeted just like Sam had been. Only they hadn't had an idiot older brother to come in guns blazing and brain sleeping.

* * *

The room seemed way too hot as he struggled somewhere under the surface of consciousness. Something was a little tight over his chest, keeping him pinned to… he was pretty sure it was a bed, but if it was, he was also sure it was the most uncomfortable damn bed he had ever slept in before. And thinking of some of the beds he had stayed in, that was saying something.

He gave a small groan and twisted slightly. With some relief, the tightness over his chest eased up, and he took a deep breath. It also eased some of the pain in his head, the pain he hadn't been aware of until now, until it lessened. It was like he had grown so used to it that the moment it weakened, he knew immediately something was…

What? Something was what? Wrong? Right? Because to all logic, pain dimming in his head should make his gut more comfortable, should make him feel better. So where was that feeling of something gone terribly wrong coming from?

Dean opened his eyes.

He knew immediately he was in hospital. If the thin, hard bed wasn't enough proof of that, than the sterile whiteness surrounding him, and that harsh smell of disinfectant was.

He knew, too, that he was alone, and again that set the warning bells off in his head, though for no reason that he could discern. He was twenty-seven for crying out loud, he didn't need a wet nurse. Yet the feeling of a gaping hole by his side was as prominent as the ever existent thumping in his head.

After a moment he shook it off, looking around to study his room. A chair sat in the corner, a bag he recognised as his own sitting closed on top. Another chair sat beside his bed, and maybe that was where the feeling of abandonment came from, because judging by the blanket left haphazardly across it, someone had been keeping vigil there.

He realized he was absently scratching his arm and left the IV port alone, sitting up to get a better look. Judging by the sky outside the window, it was sometime in the morning. And it wasn't the best morning, grey and overcast. Looked like it was about to rain.

He gave a yawn and leaned back, content for the moment. Going by his head and the weakness he wasn't used to, he had been, and would be in the hospital for some time. And while that was usually enough to give him instant cabin-fever, for the moment he was content to rest. Gather his strength after their latest hunt.

He must have dozed off again, because he woke with a start as the door to his room opened slowly. He eased his eyes open, his head aching once more, unwillingly shoving that feeling of something wrong away.

A woman walked in, blonde hair hanging loose, eyes connecting with his own instantly. She was older than him, far older, and for a moment those wild thoughts of everything being wrong made a vain attempt at resurfacing as he took in her huge smile of relief. He grinned back at her, though it was somewhat more restrained, more cautious.

"Hey Mum."

* * *

Dum-dum-dum…

I know this kind of story has been used by almost every single SPN author on fanfic, but I'm giving it a whiz. Oh, and this was thought up WAY before What Is And What Should Never Be.


	4. Chapter 4: Strange Dreams

**Author's Note:** Just a warning there probably won't be a posting for the next two nights. I'm working late tomorrow night and the next is my sister's birthday party. So you know, be warned.

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Chapter 4: Strange Dreams

"Dean, honey, thank God you're awake," his mother breathed, nearly collapsing into the chair by his bed. He knew instantly that she had been the one sitting there for however long he had been unconscious.

"How are you feeling?" she asked gently when he didn't respond for a moment. He shrugged.

"Fine, I guess. My head hurts, but apart from that…" He trailed off, shrugging again. She smiled weakly at him.

"That's to be expected," she told him, before shaking her head and giving a huge sigh of relief. "Your father will be so happy to hear you're awake."

Dean gave a small grin. "Where is he?" he asked, knowing that wasn't exactly the question he wanted to ask, but unable to think of what that exact question was. Mary smiled mischievously and again that sense of something so wrong was squashed by the inexplicable belief that all was okay in the world.

"He's finally got a lead," she answered, a hungry light in her eyes. "A lead on the demon."

_- the flames were already high and hot by the time Dean managed to gather enough bravery to escape from his room, frightened by whatever had made his mum scream. He couldn't get close to Sam's room though, wasn't allowed to see past the sight of his father as the older man bent down, handing him a small bundle wrapped in blankets. His baby brother._

"_Take your brother outside as fast as you can, and don't look back!" John ordered, that life in his eyes already dying, his terror far too stark against a pale face the shimmering orange glow. "Now Dean, go!"_

_He turned and fled, Sammy not even crying in his arms. He obeyed the order, his first order, and refused to look back, not until he was out the front door in a night far too cold after the heat consuming the house – _

The world came back into focus and Dean found himself clutching at his head, groaning, mind thumping with the tremors of a memory that didn't sit right, didn't seem like it was his. A sense of anger, one he knew definitely wasn't his own, filled him, making him feel weak and causing him to tremble. Mary held his shoulder, eyes wide and frightened, grip only a little too tight.

"Dean, honey, you okay?" she asked once she saw he was back. He nodded as the pain subsided.

"Yeah, my head just hurt for a bit," he told her, taking his hand away from his forehead. "The demon, huh?" he asked, trying to get the attention away from himself. It worked, and his mum sat down, though her eyes were still bright with concern. "You mean the demon that started the fire?"

She frowned, that concern flaring to a blaze in those orbs, and she leaned forward. "What fire?"

Dean frowned with her. "The fire, in the house, in Lawrence… You screamed, I woke up… Dad handed me Sam -."

He cut off as she flinched and turned away, anger suddenly simmering away. He didn't understand it, but forced himself to wait for her to explain, sure she would. Mary didn't disappoint, and turned back to him soon.

"Dean, I know you're a smartass some times, but that was… You know Sammy's still a touchy subject, even now." She sounded choked, on the verge of tears, and she looked away again, biting her lip. Then she looked back, and the sight of silent tears on her face was a shock. "Dean, you know what I've been like since the demon took your brother."

* * *

It was easier searching for something if you knew what you were looking for, Sam decided that night as he searched through file after file. And if you had more than one hand that was usable. What with his arm in a sling, everything was twice as hard.

Oh, he had found Rebecca Lonsdale's, and Conway's, though in different places, and had found them fairly easily. And, like him, they had each had 'irregularities' in their blood.

But Dean had said there were another three people who had fallen into comas, and Sam wasn't about to make any assumptions about a demon he hadn't come across before. He needed to see those last three files, which was turning out to be no easy task, considering he had no clue about their names, ages, genders, why they had been in hospital or even when they had died.

Giving a frustrated growl he shut the latest draw with more force than was necessary. This was growing tiring. He had searched through death record after death record and just couldn't find them.

He was so consumed by his growing hatred for files and his skimpy torchlight that he almost missed the sound of the lock clicking. Almost.

Giving a curse and shutting off his torch, he slid the draw shut, wincing as it made a noise in the dark of the room. But any sound was covered as the door opened with a squeak and a man walked in. Sam ducked behind a cabinet, squatting on his knees to avoid his head being seen.

The man shut the door behind him and switched on a torch. That set Sam's frown off. Who was this guy? And why hadn't he switched on the light instead?

Whoever he was, he took a few unsure steps forward, sweeping his torch around the room. Sam held his breath as it illuminated the cabinet he was hiding behind, and didn't let go as the light moved on.

And then the man called out in a soft whisper, so quiet Sam almost didn't hear.

"Sam? You here?"

The hunter's heart unclenched and he let out a sigh of relief, wishing his legs didn't feel so much like jelly. He stood and flinched as the torch hit his face.

"Jesus, Morgan, give a guy a heart attack next time."

The cop shrugged as he dropped the beam to the ground, giving a small grin. "It's what I live for. You been here long?"

"How did you even know I was here?" Sam asked, a little disgruntled. Morgan shrugged again.

"Doctor Ellis told me about your little theory. About how the same thing might have attacked all these people over the past year, everyone who's gone into strange comas and died about ten days later. Only he described it more as a who."

Sam nodded. "I didn't really say anything to him, though. I mean, I let slip I knew about that girl who died yesterday… and that still doesn't answer my question. How'd you know I was here?"

"Well, I checked Dean's room, and it was empty apart from him. And I knew you must know about the others, figured you'd be in here trying to find them without knowing any names."

He walked forward, looking down at the draw Sam had been searching in last. "How long have you been here?" the cop asked, looking back up, obviously trying to hide his amusement.

Sam gave a dry grin, not really seeing what was so funny. "Way too long. Please tell me you know who else was in a coma like Dean's."

Morgan grinned. "I know who else was in a coma like Dean's."

He turned away and walked to a filing cabinet about halfway across the room. To Sam's disgruntlement, it was one he had already searched through.

"So what's your theory?" the cop asked, glancing around as he began skipping through names.

Sam peered over his shoulder, taking a look. "It's a dream demon," he informed Morgan. The man gave him a look.

"A dream demon? Seriously? I didn't even know they existed."

Sam shrugged. "Neither did I, and neither did my dad. But it definitely is."

"So that was what attacked you last night? And that girl, Rebecca Lonsdale?"

Sam nodded. "That was it. I woke up, head pounding, and after a minute I smelt sulphur. I called Dean straight away, and it attacked me. It was trying to… I dunno, push some kind of dream reality onto me."

"So that's where Dean is at the moment?" he asked, pulling out a folder. Sam nodded.

"That's what I'm assuming. And that was where Rebecca was, and where this Jarrod Conway is. Only it's not the same for everyone. It was taking all my fears and memories and forcing them into a reality in which I'd die pretty quick if I were in it. My guess is it sucks the life or energy from you as you exist in this reality it's created, and when these people have died in their comas, they actually died in this reality and the demon was the one who killed them, in some form or another. You know the old wive's tale, how if you die in a dream, you die in real life. Yesterday, the demon was sucking something from Rebecca as she died. My guess is that it was the last of her life force, like a shtriga of some kind."

Morgan nodded and opened the folder. Sam took over then and flipped a few pages until he was looking at a lab report a lot like his. He nodded.

"What is it you're looking for, exactly?" the cop asked, frowning. Sam glanced up at him.

"Yesterday, Ellis came into my room, asking me to stay a bit longer. They'd found something odd in my blood, something that they didn't like. Hell, they don't even know what it was. This morning it was gone. But I'm not the only one with 'irregularities', as Ellis put it. Conway, and Rebecca, and the rest, they all had it too. It's not just random attacks, it looks like the demon is targeting certain people. Like it targeted me."

"And got Dean." Morgan finished. Sam nodded. "Why was it going after you? And how do we kill it?"

Sam weighed up that question for a moment and then sighed. "I'm not sure how to kill it, and I have no clue why it's targeted anyone. The people it's gone after are people who are close to being released, who have recovered, so they're strong, which would mean more for it. And my guess is their minds are still a little weak, so it's easier to go after them. But that still leaves countless people, and there have only been a few deaths so far."

He sighed, and put the file back. "As to how to kill it… it's not corporeal, it's a shadow, more than anything. A big black cloud. It's not exactly in Dean, so we can't exorcise it from him. My guess would be that we have to kill it in the dream, or Dean does. Or this Conway, I guess. But it would take precautions against that. It'd appear as someone the victim is never going to kill. And anyway, they don't know they're in a dream, so…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "I have no clue," he admitted, rubbing his eyes.

"So, somehow we've got to warn Dean. Show him he's not where he should be. We have to get inside the dream."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, that about covers it. You make it sound so hard, Morgan," he snapped sarcastically. To his relief, the cop didn't take the bait, just gently shut the drawer.

"You want to find the others?" he asked, looking around with the torch. Sam shook his head.

"Assumption's can be deadly. Nah, don't worry about it. I've got to make a few calls anyway, see if anyone's ever gone up against these things before. And if they managed to kill it."


	5. Chapter 5: Apparitions

**Author's Note:** So, I'm back, with happy chappie five! Sorry about the wait, but life called, like an annoying little sibling. Actually you're lucky to have this chap, cause my health decided to take a holiday, nothing serious, just a mean cold and I'm nearly losing my voice, and you really don't need to know but I like to share my misery. So make me feel better, and enjoy this next offering… trust me, I'll know if you don't.

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Chapter 5: Apparitions

The room was stifling in its silence but Sam refused to move, sitting there and watching Dean sleep. He was leaning back, hand to chin tilting his head so the dawn light missed his eyes, creating a shadow over the top of his head. He hadn't really moved since he had woken from sleep, the sleep he hadn't meant to submit to. He wanted to be here when Dean woke, however unlikely that was to happen in the near future. Besides, he had hit a dead end. No one he knew had a single inkling of how to kill a dream demon. As far as he could tell, no one had actually ever gone up against one. Of course, Winchesters weren't one to follow tradition.

A few hunters had suggested trying to enter the dream, but none had had any idea of how to do that, or knew anyone who could do it. To say it was frustrating was the understatement of the century.

For the first time since dawn he moved, leaning forward to rest his elbows on Dean's bed, far too close to his older brother for the other man's comfort. Or what would have been his comfort if Dean had actually been awake, or conscious, or on this planet.

He gave a frustrated sigh, the urge to hit something nearly overwhelming. Instead, he leaned his chin on his arms and closed his eyes for a moment. He needed to think, think, think. He had to get Dean back, had to find some way to reach him…

He jumped as the door opened and almost fell out of the chair in his rush to see who had come in.

Ellis grinned sheepishly at him as he entered, shutting the door quietly. "Sorry," he apologised. "I didn't think you were asleep."

Sam shook his head. "I wasn't. Just trying to find some way to reach Dean." He was surprised to find it was the truth. He had told way to many lies lately. Been keeping too many secrets.

Ellis smiled understandingly. "I know this must be hard," the doctor said gently. "But he's still there. Try talking to him. It'd help him if he knew someone was here, waiting for him. Try some story, something to show you believe in him, if you can't speak randomly."

He seemed to finish checking whatever he had been checking, and left, with a last, knowing, infuriating, gentle smile for Sam. The door clicking hid Sam's low growl.

"What the hell would he know?" Sam demanded of Dean's prone form. "He doesn't have a single clue of what's going on…"

He couldn't keep the anger going and sighed, leaning down on his elbows again. He shook his head. "If you're in there, Dean, I don't think you can hear me. But I guess I've been wrong before…"

He cast a small look at the closed door and felt uneasiness clench his guts. He wasn't like this, the Winchesters weren't all talkative and emotional and inclined to pour their feelings out. Even if he did initiate more 'chick-flick' moments than he got in return, didn't mean he felt comfortable doing it. It just meant he wasn't idiot enough to try to bottle it all up. He gave a small groan and began talking.

"You know when I was… God, I think I was about fifteen. I was a little shit then, I know. But we'd just moved to that town in Nevada. We hadn't been there more than a week when some witch put her whammy on me. Made me see things, hear voices, other people's thoughts."

He swallowed, and looked around, making sure there was no one secretly watching somehow. Why was this so hard?

"Anyway, I remember, it all came to a head at school, one day. I think I was in gym or something. Started hearing _everyone's_ thoughts, seeing people hanging, dead, diseased, rotting… everyone thought I was going mad. Hell, I thought I was… Not you though."

He swallowed again, throat clenching. "You stuck by me, found a way to get me out, make me realize there was no way I was insane…"

There was nothing. No response, no hand clench, no flutter beneath those eyelids, and Sam slumped, his unexpected high hopes falling to their death in the rocky bottom of his stomach. He felt worse than he had before, and embarrassed.

He gave a sigh and closed his eyes, rubbing them as the grit began to form immediately. After a moment he opened his eyes and looked down at his brother, taking in every unmoving feature.

"I guess I wasn't wrong," he muttered. "I guess it's completely up to me to get you out. You've done it before, I don't see why I can't."

And then Dean moved.

* * *

He hadn't slept all night, and he could tell it hadn't helped. Dean lay in his bed, watching the dark night outside the window, not thinking, not really moving… just sitting. Sometimes it had been because he just hadn't had the energy. Other times it had been because there was just no inclination, an odd feeling to say the least.

Giving a sigh, neither content nor frustrated, or anything at all, he closed his eyes, leaning back slightly as the dawn light played over his face. Once more the day was overcast, threatening rain that was yet to burst. But the light hit him and he gave a small smile, turning slightly as he opened his eyes.

He had to bite back the scream as he found a man sitting by his bed, on a chair that was two feet to the left of the one his mum had been in. A chair that hadn't been there a moment before.

The man's eyebrows rose, until they were hidden by his too long, shaggy hair, obviously as shocked as Dean himself was. The hunter stared at the man, face pale, unmoving, sure he recognised him, but unable to scratch the surface of memory or thought as he stared at the apparition before him.

The man's jaw dropped as he looked around, mouth forming a word. And then suddenly, he disappeared.

Dean took the opportunity to take a deep breath, before jumping as the door opened. Mary stared hard at him, concern etched in her face, eyes narrow and already searching her peripherals for the reason of her son's sudden anxiety.

"Dean, what is it?" she demanded when she couldn't find the danger. The hunter shook his head.

"I think I saw a ghost," he muttered, still staring at the spot where the man had been. Mary's eyes narrowed further.

"A ghost? Where? Did it hurt you"

Dean just shook his head absently once more, heart beat returning to normal slowly, though the experience had left him a little shaken, hands trembling. He looked up at his mum.

"It didn't hurt me… It just stared at me, like it… like it recognised me."

For a moment he swore he saw anger flare in Mary's eyes but a moment later there was only concern, and he knew he had imagined it. She sat down in the chair, grabbing his hand with her own.

"Son, who was it?" she asked gently. Dean shook his head.

"I don't know."

* * *

"Sam!"

The vision disappeared as a hand grabbed his shoulder, and he jumped awake, spinning so fast Morgan almost fell over in fright.

The Winchester looked around, a little disorientated, before realizing he had fallen asleep. And that Dean being awake had been a dream. He didn't know whether that was a good thing or not.

He still muttered a curse, looking back to where Morgan was watching him cautiously, eyes too calm. The cop walked forward softly as Sam seemed to relax.

"What is it?" he asked, taking the second seat without being invited. Sam shook his head, pushing his hair back absently.

"Nothing. I was just dreaming, that's all. You startled me."

Morgan shrugged. "Sorry. How you holding up?"

The vision of Dean waking, and not recognising him hit the younger man once more and he had to stop before flinching. "Okay," he lied.

Morgan believed him. "So, you found anything?" he asked, glancing quickly at the laptop sitting charging in the corner. Sam sighed.

"Nothing useful. I called every hunter, every player, every single person I know of who deals with the supernatural. I even called a few people who were suggested to me… nada. It's like this thing has never popped up before. No one's ever come across it, not a demon which deals in dreams, anyway. I mean, djinn, they kinda do the same, but they have to constantly keep their victims under, or so I'm told." He paused at Morgan's blank look. "Genies, Morgan. Djinn are genies."

"They actually exist?" He didn't wait for an answer. "But you smelt sulphur, so it definitely has to be a demon, right?"

Sam nodded. "Right." He looked back at Dean and sighed once more. "A few suggested like we said, trying to get inside his dreams, but no one I know knows how to, or knows someone who does. And no one else had any brilliant ideas. I mean, these demons supposedly exist mostly in the dream…. There is no other way that I can think of, but the problem is, no one has any clue how to get in the dream so we can actually destroy the demon at all."

To his surprise, Morgan gave a smug grin. "That's where I might come in handy. Sam, how do you feel about psychics?"

He nearly choked, turning and giving a cough as he tried to sort his throat out so it would work again. When he had turned back, Morgan wasn't looking so confident.

"Okay," the cop acceded, obviously misinterpreting Sam's stare. "Psychics don't exactly have the best rep, but she is the real deal, even if you don't necessarily believe in that stuff, though I don't see how you can't, looking at your line of work. But she's no fraud. She's helped me out, with something kinda similar."

Sam snapped his mouth shut, curiosity overcoming his plan to tell Morgan it was all right. "How'd she help you?"

Morgan shrugged. "I was being haunted, some kind of spirit, that kept appearing in my dreams. She knew what was happening long before I did, she came to me, saw my dream before I could even tell her about it… she helped me banish the spirit from my dreams, or nightmares rather."

Sam nodded. "Okay, that could be helpful."

Morgan frowned. "Look, all I'm saying is that it could be… oh wait… what?"

He looked confused, and had apparently been geared up for more convincing. Sam smiled. "Bring her in, see if she can help. At this point, I've got nothing else to go on."

Morgan nodded and stood, red after his mistake. He went to the door and Sam felt a moment of anger that he had brought the woman along, before he squashed it. It was good the guy was prepared. Morgan said some things to someone Sam couldn't see, words he couldn't hear, before leaning back and pushing the door open further.

A woman in her fifties rounded the corner and Sam's first thought was that Missouri had somehow managed to change her appearance. She reminded him all too much of the psychic back in Lawrence that for a moment he could only stare. Then he shook himself mentally and stood, walking forward to shake the woman's hand and study her further.

She was thin, much shorter than him, like everything about her had been downsized. She only came up to his chest, but didn't seem disgruntled about that at all. She had wiry grey hair that gave her a confusing wildly dignified look, only accentuated by her piercing blue eyes, so knowing that they made you believe she saw every single inch of you and could weigh it in but a moment if she chose to.

"Sam, I'd like to introduce you to Laura Soraghan. Laura, this is Sam Winchester, and that's his brother Dean."

She shook his hand with a strong, somewhat reassuring grip before cocking her head and her eyebrow up at him. Without turning from his eyes, she spoke up, speaking to Morgan.

"Honey, I have no clue what you were worried about, this young man was always going to believe you."

Sam gave a sigh of resignation and dropped Laura's hand as Morgan gave them both a confused look.

"What do you mean?"

Laura gave a short bark. "Is your mind that clouded, Andrew Morgan? Because young Sam here is as much a psychic as me."

* * *

And that's where I'm leaving it for tonight. Hope you all liked it! See you (hopefully) tomorrow night!


	6. Chapter 6: Laura

**Chapter 6: Laura**

With the threat of a ghost lingering in his room, Dean had vacated the hospital by midday, with little to no argument from his doctor. And as he walked from the halls of the too sterile building, he couldn't help but sigh with relief.

Mary grinned and turned her head to look at him. "You're so predictable," she told him with a laugh that sounded so joyous and happy that he couldn't help but grin back, a sudden longing to hear it again almost overwhelming. And then that feeling that everything was wrong tumbled into him once more.

His mother noticed his faltering steps, and paused, pulling him to a stop. "Dean, honey, you okay?" she demanded, those eyes piercing him and dragging at the truth.

Looking into those orbs, that feeling disappeared, and he smiled reassuringly. "Yeah, Mum. Everything's fine. Better now I'm outta there," he added, jerking his thumb at the building towering above them both. "Besides, we gotta get on that demon's trail with Dad as soon as possible."

She didn't seem comforted. "You sure? Because after what happened…" She trailed off, shaking her head. "We don't want to take any chances, even if some ghost is haunting your room."

He grabbed her upper arms and squeezed slightly, grinning down at her. "Mum, I swear I am fine. Although…" It was his turn to trail off, looking away thoughtfully. Her smile slowly dropped and she looked at him worriedly.

"What?"

He grinned down at her. "Although I think a night out on the town is just what the doctor ordered… don't think you can help with that."

She gave him a playful punch on the arm and began walking again. "You're a little shit sometimes, Dean," she told him as he caught up, laughing. "Treat your mum with a little respect -."

_The university was crawling with kids, and for some reason that made Dean hurt somewhere he kept locked away._

_But that didn't diminish the anger he was feeling at that moment, and he refused to look up at the young man walking beside him, who was all too familiar in an infuriating way, because he couldn't remember where from._

"_How about telling him to respect his old man? How's that for advice?"_

"Dean!"

He shook his head, and smiled down at Mary, keeping his confusion in check. "Sorry, spaced out for a moment… see there was this hot chick…"

He trailed off again as Mary punched him once more, and then followed as they made their way to the car waiting in the lot.

"Your dad's meeting us at the motel," his mum told him over her shoulder, and Dean nodded, getting in the passenger side. That feeling of wrongness was back, but this time he knew why. Somehow that ghost from his room was making its way into his head. But he'd be damned before some bitch from the land of the dead started screwing up his life.

* * *

"Psychic?" Morgan asked far too sharply, and Sam gave him a small glare as he collapsed back into his seat. But it was Laura who whacked the cop over the back of the head – just as Missouri had done with Dean.

"No need to make it sound like a dirty word, Andrew," she told him, taking Morgan's vacated seat near Sam. Morgan rolled his eyes at her and she gave a chuckle before turning to Sam.

"I am sorry about your brother," she told him instantly, her eyes softening as he felt her read his mind. He tried not to flinch. "But I am certainly going to do everything I can to help him."

Sam smiled thankfully and gave a quick glance to Morgan. "So…"

"Yeah, I'm a psychic," she told him, grinning. "And I guess I am a hell of a lot like your friend Missouri. We psychics tend to grow backbones and a prickly attitude to match," she added with a thoughtful glare for Morgan.

Sam gave a concerned frown, and she chuckled, a delighted sound that made him want to join in.

"No, I won't stop reading your mind, Sam," Laura told him. "It's going to help me. Now," and at this she looked between the two of them. "I need you to tell me… why's Dean in a coma?"

Sam sighed and looked away guiltily. "I called him, when the demon attacked me, two nights ago," he told her. "I panicked, and I didn't know who else to call."

Laura raised an eyebrow at him. "Don't go blaming yourself, Sam," she warned him roughly. "Just think… if the demon had gotten you, would Dean have known what it was? Would he have figured a way to save you, that you were trapped in your own dreams? Or would he have wasted away over ten days until that shadowy bastard killed you and then gone on some vain hunt for revenge against a creature compensating for the demon that killed you and then let it kill him?"

Sam didn't answer, trying to get his mouth to work, and she nodded decisively. "That's what I thought. Now get your head out of your ass and stop looking for some_one_ to blame. Start trying to fix it. Because that's what I'm here for."

Sam realized he was leaning back and glanced down at Dean where he lay still in the bed. Then he nodded.

"Fine. How can you help him?"

Laura gave a wild grin. "Thought you'd never ask? Mind if I touch him?"

To his surprise she waited for him to nod before pulling her chair closer and reaching out to grab Dean's hand. Sam felt the sudden impulse to grab his hand with her, but sat motionless, hands clasped between his legs.

There was a moment of silence, and then she lurched back, face slightly pale. And Sam knew it was bad.

"What is it?" he heard Morgan asking, but he felt like he already knew the answer.

"He isn't there, is he?" Sam demanded, and she nodded, before turning to him, actual fear in her eyes.

"He isn't there. Not really. He's existing somewhere else, a dream plain that the demon has transported him to. I can't see where, or what… if I enter his dream, I'll be doing it blind."

Sam nodded, understanding. "Is there any other way to help him?"

Laura thought about it for a moment, and then shook her head. "I don't think so. This demon's a tricky little son of a."

"So what are you going to do?" Morgan asked. She shook her head again and didn't answer.

"Tell me what you know, of this demon, and it's victims," she told them instead. Sam leaned back and shrugged.

"There have been six victims so far, not including Dean. The latest one was Jarrod Conway, but the latest one to die was Rebecca Lonsdale. We saw the demon killing her… it was taking something from her. We think it was the last of her life force, her spirit."

"What did the demon look like?" Laura asked, eyes narrow on his.

"A black shadow, basically. It had no shape, it was just a cloud, hovering above her. Sucking her dry."

Laura nodded. "What about your own attack?" she questioned. "What happened, from the instant you woke up?"

Sam didn't really mind telling the story twice. "I woke up, and I didn't know why, at first. And then my head started throbbing. I didn't know what was wrong, but I realized something wasn't right, because the machines around me were going crazy, and no one was showing up. So I called Dean. I'd just started dialling when I smelt sulphur."

He shook his head and gave a glance at Dean. "I don't remember much after that. I got through to Dean, but line was bad, because of the demon, I'm assuming. And then I fell out of bed… I don't think I was unconscious straight away, but I don't remember anything after that."

Laura watched him for a second. "Not even about this reality the demon was trying to send you to?"

Sam almost lied, almost said no. But, besides the fact that it would be useless lying to a psychic, he knew he had to get it out. But he didn't take his eyes off Dean while he did.

"Everyone was dead. Everyone I knew. The yellow-eyed demon that killed my mum, it had taken over… it was Hell on Earth. And it was looking for me. I had all these memories from that world, even as I struggled to hold onto my real ones. It felt so right, that reality, even when it felt so completely wrong."

Laura nodded. "The demon took everything in your mind and forged it together to make a different land, where you were alone, and where you would die." She cocked her head and frowned. "You're okay about that?" she demanded after a moment, a little shocked. "The demon read your mind like a book."

Sam gave a humourless laugh. "It's not the first time that's happened," he told her. Laura flinched. The hunter ignored it, and ignored too, Morgan's curious look. He looked at the older psychic.

"So what are you going to do?" he asked, trying to get back to saving Dean. "How are you getting into his dream?"

Laura looked at his brother for a minute. "It's hard to explain," she said, and Sam got the very distinct feeling she was trying not to explain. He sat up straighter, anger seeping in slowly.

"Try."

She gave a frustrated sigh and glared at him. "No, because then you'll want to do it," she snapped at him. And that set Sam's mind whirling. He glanced at Morgan, and then back at Laura.

"Why can't I?" he asked, realizing he should have thought about it before she had mentioned it. Again Laura gave a disgruntled sigh.

"Because!" she snarled, getting angry quickly. "For one, you don't know if you exist in his reality. If your dead, he'll think you're a ghost, and shoot you full of rocksalt. If you never were there, he won't know who you are, and you know Dean well enough to know he's not trusting to anyone he doesn't know, especially not a young guy with an obvious ability to handle himself!"

The idea that Dean wouldn't know him stopped him cold. And Laura hadn't finished assaulting him with her lashing tongue, leaning forward and shaking her finger at him.

"Then there's the possibility that you _are_ in his reality. He sees two of you… what's he going to think? He's going to think one of you is evil. And the demon has a hold on his mind, and on what happens in his dream. And then…"

"And then?" Sam asked when she didn't continue. She waited another moment before sighing and softening.

"And then… if you were trying to get close to Dean, to kill him, who would you impersonate? Who is the only person Dean trusts enough to let into his life?"

_Me._ Sam refused to say it out loud. "You know all that just from reading my mind?"

"You know your brother better than you think you do. The demon's been messing with his mind, Sam. Who knows what state he's in? The demon could have been playing with him all this time, and it could have been doing it all with your face on."

Sam swallowed before nodding, shortly, sharply. "Okay. I get it. I just…" He didn't have to say it. Laura did.

"I know. Now that you think you can maybe do what I'm about to do – which isn't granted by the way. You might not even be able to do it, not all psychics have the same abilities – but now you're thinking about it, the idea of someone else in Dean's head…"

It felt wrong. But he nodded, swallowing again. Morgan was looking uncomfortable once more, looking everywhere but at Sam and Laura.

He gave another nod. "Okay. Fine. So how are you going to do this?"

* * *

Hoped you liked it! See you tomorrow night.


	7. Chapter 7: Entering the Dream

**Warning:** I know I've said before that there were only spoilers for season 1, but that was before I reread this chap, and found out that there are kinda spoilers for the season finales of season 2, but you would only recognise them, properly, if you had seen it. Still, be warned.

**

* * *

**

Chapter 7: Entering the Dream

Laura sent Morgan outside the door to make sure no one entered while they were doing anything… strange. Sam knew the cop was stationed somewhere down the corridor, ready to steer anybody in the other direction. At least for the next thirty minutes.

Sam wasn't sure whether that was meant to be a long time or a short one. Would it really take that long to convince Dean he wasn't where he should be? On the other hand, thirty minutes could hardly be a marathon. Could it?

Laura gave a chuckle as she read his thoughts. "Relax, Sam," she ordered. "I've done things similar to this before. I know what I'm doing, and I know how to help Dean. Just let me."

He struggled for a moment before nodding. "Okay. Let's go get Dean."

She nodded once, grinning at him with a proud smile. "Try not to fall asleep. I need someone watching over me, and we already know Morgan keeps his mind closed."

Getting the feeling she thought anyone who wasn't a psychic was somehow lesser, he nodded. "I'm not going anywhere."

She gave another sharp nod. "I know. Remember, half an hour. Then do anything you need to do to wake me up."

"I think I've got it covered," he told her with a half grin. "Just get down to it."

She gave him a knowing smile and wriggled slightly in her chair, turning it to face Dean's bed and getting comfortable. Sam moved his own chair so she was in his line of sight, though Dean remained in his peripheral vision. He wasn't about to let his brother out of sight.

Making sure he was right, Laura began humming. It was a pleasant sort of lullaby, tuneless and unrecognisable. Rather it was a random series of notes that made him smile vacantly, a feeling of happiness just welling up inside without being noticed.

Still humming, Laura took a gentle hold of Dean's hand, both hers cupping his. Melody never faltering, she let her eyes close, and Sam almost closed his own, but instead smiled deeper, feeling calm for the first time since his father had died. Taking a deep breath, Sam watched Laura fall gently forward, resting her head on Dean's bed, hands still around his brothers, still humming that tuneless lullaby even as she slid into the demon's dream.

* * *

The motel was just the same as the myriad of other motels that he had ever stayed in. Cheap, a little dark, far too dingy for most people's likings. To Dean it was, and always had been, home. The last house he had ever stayed in, for the greatest length of time, was the one back in Lawrence, and that building was too full of bad memories for any of the Winchesters now. Not that it mattered now; he hadn't been back to that house in twenty-two years, and he wasn't about to go back there.

As Mary pulled the car up to the low buildings, Dean felt himself frowning. There was something wrong with that line of thought, he was sure, but that bad feeling, the one that had accompanied him almost constantly since he had woken the day before… it wasn't there. And he had the strangest feeling that it should be.

"Dean, honey, you okay?"

His mother's anxiety cut into his thoughts and he turned to her, smiling. "I'm fine. Just happy to be out of hospital."

She smiled with him. "Me too, don't worry. You had us worried there for a moment. And once we're done here, I think we'll look into who that ghost was, in your room. No hospital needs a haunting."

Dean nodded absently, thinking back to that ghost, if that was what it had been. He wasn't so sure, not anymore. Because that 'ghost' kept on popping flashes into his head. Flashes that made no sense, that could never have happened.

He opened the door and got out of the car, immediately spotting his father's Impala, its black coat shining in the weak sun, standing out against the various other POS littering the car park. He felt a proud smile as he looked at it, suddenly unable to wait to get behind that driver's seat once more.

Tearing his eyes from the sight of the beautiful classic, he scanned the motel for John. His father spotted him first.

"Dean, thank God!" a strong voice called out, and the hunter turned in time to see a mass before it engulfed him. Dean laughed, and grabbed his father back, holding on tight, grief sweeping through him, tears welling but never falling because that was unbecoming of a Winchester. But he hugged his father and ignored that odd feeling that it was something he hadn't done in weeks, something he would never get again. He was getting used to odd feelings.

"How you feeling?" John asked as they broke apart, though the older man's hand still lingered on his son's shoulder. Dean shrugged.

"Fine. Better now I'm outta that hospital."

John chuckled. "You always were a true Winchester," he told the younger man, releasing him. John glanced at his wife. "Any trouble getting him out?"

Mary gave her husband a shrewd glance. "This is me you're talking to John. I can talk anyone into anything."

Both men laughed, knowing it was true, and once more Dean ignored that bad feeling. It was just a side effect of being put into hospital. Had to be. He turned to his father.

"So what have you got? Mum told me you've got a lead on the demon that took Sammy."

That bad feeling swarmed, and he only just managed to hide it before it took over his face. It helped when John grinned, taking nearly ten years off his features.

"Step into my office."

As a family they went into a room, and, taking in the double bed, Dean assumed it was his parent's room. And judging from the papers pinned to nearly every inch of the walls, John had been here a –

_A hand grabbed his leather jacket and dragged him into the room, nearly leaving his gut behind with the speed. But the hand steadied him and he turned to face the room. The door closed quickly behind him._

_Knowing there was a body beside him, tall and unrecognisably familiar, he nevertheless took in the papers on the wall, signs and symbols from all over, and, opposite the bed with its ring of salt, were pinned pictures and information of ten missing men who had disappeared –_

"Dean!"

His dad's voice jolted him back, and Dean immediately wiped the vacant look off his face upon seeing his parents staring at him worriedly. He rubbed his eyes.

"Sorry. I'm a little wrecked. What were you saying?"

John shared a look with Mary, who shrugged with her eyes. Dean ignored it, waiting somewhat patiently for his father to explain what he had. He didn't have to wait long.

John turned to him, obviously having explained all this to his wife before. "All right, the deal is this. First off, it is _not_ the demon here in town."

"But there's something here?" Dean cut off. John nodded.

"What we're after has been here a while. Kind of coordinating supernatural attacks in the area. It's not a demon, of that much we're sure. We do believe it has the power to control demons though."

Dean's eyebrows rose. "Control demons?" Again John nodded. "What is it?"

John's eyes hardened, and it was obvious the man felt almost betrayed. "_It_ is a human. A psychic, to be exact. On hell's side. A soldier for the demon."

Dean felt himself snarl, and immediately felt the older man's anger. Humans, on the side of evil. It was enough to make any hunter sick. But John hadn't finished.

"But I think there's more to this one. No one's ever seen him before. No one's ever gotten close. He always picks up on possible attacks long before it happens. He's incredibly powerful."

"And," Mary picked up. "We think he's the demon's right hand man. He could lead us straight to the demon."

"How?" Dean demanded, frowning.

His parents frowned with him, looking at their son like he had quite possibly gone mad.

"What do you mean?" Mary asked. "He'll know where the demon is. And he'll tell us."

Dean shook his head. "No, I mean, how are we going to get him to tell us. How are we going to get him to break?"

Mary grinned, and shared a look with her husband. Watching them, Dean suddenly felt chills, as if evil had permeated the room. He was almost ready for the lights to start flickering, and was surprised when they didn't. And then confused when he couldn't tell where that idea had come from.

"Oh, we have an idea on how to break him," John growled. "We'll threaten the most important thing in the world to him… he'd bow before us before letting anything happen to what he loves."

* * *

Half an hour later they had everything planned. Dean put in what he could, before he felt himself zoning out, much like he had at the hospital the night before. His parents watched him with anxious glances, but he excused himself as soon as possible.

He made his way to the room John had rented for him, sitting down on the single bed. For a moment he didn't move, feeling a bit shaky, weak… and having the idea that maybe he shouldn't have left the hospital so soon, if this was the result. But then again, that… apparition, or whatever the hell it had been. If it was in his head, he didn't want to be too close to it. And it was definitely in his head.

He sighed and focused his head back to now. He needed to be preparing for this hunt, with this psychic. And then he could take care of the man invading his mind.

With a start he realized he was staring at the wall and the empty space between it and his bed, as if there should have been something there. Another… something. Something that was missing.

He gave a groan, flopping back on his bed. What the hell was wrong with him? He was getting jumpy, confused… and it was all wrong. Before a hunt, he was calm, collected, eager for it. But this time, he was seeing things, getting a bad feeling –

_He walked the hallways of a hospital, a hospital all too familiar as the one he himself had been incarcerated in. There was a bounce in his step, a smile on his face, and he nodded at several cute nurses as he passed. Today was the day. Today, they would be leaving town._

_He was maybe halfway back when he stopped, a terrible feeling surging through his gut. And after so long in the business, after so long hunting – as Ash and Anya had reminded him by their very presence – he wasn't about to ignore something like that._

_And then the lights started flickering._

With a gasp he came back, the flash releasing him for the first time, instead of being jolted from it. He was shaking again, or still, he wasn't really sure, but he was trembling like crazy. Something was wrong. With him, or with… something else, he wasn't sure, but that feeling in his gut was back, and it was screaming at him that something, or everything, was not at all right. And as that flash had proven, he had been in this for too long, had been a hunter all his life, had killed every evil bastard he could for nearly twenty years… he wasn't about to ignore that feeling. Though he had no clue who Ash or Anya were.

He sat up, before putting a hand to his head. He was so tired. But he couldn't rest now. Not yet. They had this evil psychic to destroy tonight, and then he had to find out why his stomach was yelling warnings at him. And why his head kept on giving him strange flashes of him doing things he couldn't remember. And who the man in them was, the man who had appeared by his bedside at the hospital. And why he had appeared. And how. And how he had disappeared.

It was enough to make his head spin, and groaning, he flopped back on the bed, putting a hand to his brow and massaging slightly. He was giving himself a headache and the realization made him growl.

"What the hell is wrong with me?" he asked no one in particular. Or so he thought, when a voice echoed across the room.

"Nothing. You just don't belong here."

He almost screamed. Honest, swear to God, screamed, proving to himself just how tightly wound he was.

Instead he sat up and rolled off the bed, reaching under for the shotgun John had drilled into him to keep under there. Hand closing around the cold handle, he kept on rolling, coming to his feet in one smooth motion… although he still shook.

A woman was watching with consternation written across her face, though she gave the shotgun a disdainful glance. Instantly she gave a strong impression of power and strength, of resolution, of knowledge. He couldn't help but be a little awed, even after taking in her slight form and grey hair.

"Come on, Dean," she told him. "You can trust me."

He raised an eyebrow and looked up and down her transparent form, taking in her echoing voice. He cocked the gun.

"Yeah, right. I'm not trusting no ghost."

She gave him a wry grin. "Double negative. Means you're going to trust a ghost." She gave a sort of cackle at his confusion. "Don't worry, boy. I'm not the ghost of grammar past. In fact, Dean Winchester, I'm no ghost at all."

He nearly dropped his aim. "How do you know me? Who are you? What the hell are you?"

She took a step forward, and raised her hands when he gave the gun a small shake. "My name's Laura Soraghen, Dean," she told him gently. "I'm here to help you."

"Help me?" Dean asked with some scepticism. "Help me with what?"

Laura gave a knowing grin. "That bad feeling. Those flashes. That notion that something is incredibly wrong."

He almost pulled the trigger, and maybe she sensed it, because the woman took a step back. "You're a psychic."

She gave a growl. "So shoot me. No, not seriously. Believe me. Just because I'm a psychic, doesn't mean I'm evil. Not every psychic is. Don't judge me by Max Miller. Hell, I can't even throw people with physical strength, let alone telekinesis."

Dean cocked his head. "What the hell are you talking about? Who the fuck is Max Miller?"

She gave a frown at his language, but ignored it otherwise. "He's in there, somewhere. The demon's screwed with your thoughts though. Made you forget. Made you think that all this…" She swept her arm around the room, gesturing to his whole existence. "That all this is real."

Stomach jolting, he really did lower the gun, and barely noticed when Laura sighed with barely concealed relief. "What are you talking about?"

She smiled sadly at him. "I know, it's hard. But all this is a fantasy. And those flashes, they're your real memories."

Dean shook his head, struggling to deny everything. His head was spinning, it felt like the whole room was spinning. He continued to shake his head.

"No, you're lying. This is real. My life is real."

It was Laura's turn to shake her head. "Sorry Dean. Yes, your life is real. But this isn't your life. In fact, at this point your whole life is sitting in your hospital room hoping you'll make it out of a coma."

"Coma?" Dean breathed, feeling the air thicken. It was getting hot, and his head was feeling fuzzy, as if he were coming down with something. He shook his head again, denying it all, denying everything. He pulled the gun up again. "You're lying. You're fucking lying. Get out. Go away!"

Laura took a desperate step forward again, sympathy on her face. "I'm so sorry the demon's done this to you. I really am. But you need to come back. Concentrate on the memories."

"On the flashes," he heard himself mutter. She grabbed at it, taking another step forward in excitement.

"Yes, the flashes! Your real memories, your mind, rebelling against what the demon has done to it. It's your life trying to get you back."

He couldn't breathe. Something was suffocating him, something nearby. He felt the gun drop from his grip, and his head shake. Laura's voice was suddenly far away. This couldn't be real, it couldn't. Could it? No, it couldn't, this was his life. It had to be his life. If it wasn't, there would be something, some indicator, something more than a bad feeling in his gut. This was his life, this psychic ghost woman was lying. She had to be… This was… He couldn't breathe… Something… his head… fuzzy…

"NO!" he screamed, not even realizing it, not sure if it was him screaming or not. Laura screamed with him as she was dumped in this world, a chilling sound that resounded around his head and ripped something into life… or ripped it from life.

And then, so loud it crashed against his skull, a voice yelled at him, a voice terribly familiar and so terrible he wished he could recognise just so he could know what it was he wanted to badly to forget about it. It was everything and nothing to him, hope and horror all rolled into one huge order that split his mind.

_KILL HER!_

And he felt himself move to comply.

* * *

Oh no, will Dean really kill her? Well, I know the answer.


	8. Chapter 8: Falling

**Author's Note:** Have I said thanks for all the awesome reviews I'm receiving? No? Yes? Well, probably not enough. So, THANK YOU!

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Chapter 8: Falling

_And then, so loud it crashed against his skull, a voice yelled at him, a voice terribly familiar and so terrible he wished he could recognise just so he could know what it was he wanted to badly to forget about it. It was everything and nothing to him, hope and horror all rolled into one huge order that split his mind_.

_KILL HER!_

_And he felt himself move to comply._

* * *

The humming was getting to Sam, drifting through his ears into his mind and making him terribly sleepy. He remembered the sleepless nights after Jessica and imagined how much better he would have slept if he had known this… whatever it was. He would have been asleep within minutes.

Of course, the moment he fell asleep now, there was the possibility that Laura was dead. The demon wasn't going to take her intrusion lying down.

He gave a yawn and then slid down to lay beside Laura, his head facing hers, Dean's body inches from the top of his hair. Surely it wouldn't hurt if he just laid down. He was still awake, still aware. And Morgan was still outside, not hearing this tuneless, hypnotic humming. Sam almost wished he wasn't, not while he was supposed to be watching Laura for any signs of distress.

He yawned again, jaw stretching so wide he felt it crack and he gave a grimace. That lullaby was making a fog settle around his mind, blanketing everything…

Another yawn ripped from him, and he blinked, biting his tongue to stop another yawn and to chastise himself for letting his eyes close. This was no good, he had to get Morgan in here, before he surrendered to the melody still coming from Laura's sleeping body.

He went to stand but only got halfway before he realized that the fog from his mind had infused his legs, and they didn't want to work. He collapsed back into the seat, the first dregs of fear seeping into him. Giving a yawn that came out more as a gurgle, he reached out for Laura with his hand, feeling the numbness and weight of an exhausted-like feeling, of bone-numbing weariness that came from too much sleep. And he felt himself begin to drift. He only just managed to take a hold of Laura's hand, placing it over hers as hers were over Dean's, before his eyes closed against his will and he slipped under.

At first it was like floating in nothingness, but far too like being possessed for him to be comfortable. He tried to get back, back to the hospital room, but that melody still passed through him, clinging to him and making him cling to it. And so he drifted in, he assumed, a land of dreaming and fantasy, or a land between the two, or a land that was neither and some type of purgatory for dreamers and psychics. The echoes of a scream still reverberated around the reality.

_KILL HER!_

The sudden order made him stop, or forced him to stop, he wasn't sure. The indescribable nothingness though, it shook with the power, and Sam knew, he knew without a doubt that the demon had been the one to shout it. But then why did that voice, so powerful, suffused with strength and evil, ringing with familiarity and potency, why was it so recognisable. He felt chills runs down his spine and knew his body back in the hospital shivered, taking a tighter hold on Laura's hand, and, by default, Dean's. He could feel her strength, and let it guide him.

_KILL HER NOW._

The second order, this close to where it was coming from, nearly shattered his skull and he couldn't help but scream. Somewhere, he could feel it all happening, and the sudden horror he felt sickened him, until he nearly couldn't bear to go any further. But somewhere, somewhere distant and too close at the same time, he knew. He knew, without seeing, without feeling anything but her hand… Laura was dying.

And Dean was the one killing her.

Fighting his own fear and helplessness, Sam took back control, knowing he had to save Laura – _blue lips, hoarse breathe, eyes open now, panicking, fearful, terrified, light dying, melody slipping as she ran out of air_ – had to save Laura if he wanted to save Dean.

_KILL HER NOW, QUICKLY, NOW!_

Sam screamed once more as the power behind that – _recognisable, terrifyingly so, familiar, no way in hell, it couldn't be –_ that voice coursed through him. And then it didn't matter as he landed, almost falling as his body jolted to the ground. He looked around and realized he wasn't whole, that his body was transparent. And then he forgot all about it as he saw Dean on the ground, kneeling over Laura, his strong hands, so adept at killing beasts and monsters, wrapped tightly around her thin neck. Her struggles were subsiding slowly as the colour seeped from her features, as the life seeped from her lungs.

"Laura!" Sam shouted, running forward, and hoping his ghost like appearance wasn't completely ghost like. His shout didn't seem to enter Dean's fugue, but Laura turned wild eyes towards him, those once over-confident orbs begging him for help. He rushed to comply.

Hoping he would be able to touch his brother, and ignoring the nauseating sounds coming from the floor, he reached down and grabbed Dean's shoulder. The touch made the older hunter jump, but Sam wasn't only touching him. Encouraged by being able to hold on, Sam heaved with all his might, pulling the other man off of the psychic and throwing him nearly halfway across the small motel room, his strength buoyed by something in the reality.

Dean gave a cry as he landed on his back, and Sam knelt by Laura, keeping one eye on his brother as he checked the pulse on the unconscious woman. Unconscious but alive. She was alive, and Dean would be okay. He would. He turned to his brother.

Dean's face struck him cold. The older man wasn't smiling, wasn't relieved, wasn't much of anything. The icy recognition blazing in his eyes told Sam everything he needed to know. Dean knew him. Or knew of him. And that wasn't going to be enough. Not at the moment.

"You!" Dean spat, and it made Sam flinch, his heart clenching as his worst nightmare ever imaginable turned into reality. Dean's reality. "Why are you haunting me?"

"God, Dean," Sam managed to get out, his voice breaking. "I'm so sorry."

And he let it all go.

* * *

After a moment Dean realized he was still gasping for breath, and that the shotgun was by his side, where he had dropped it. Not that it mattered now. They were gone. That psychic woman, and that man, the one who knew him, who had been haunting him, they were gone.

And he had tried to kill her. Oh God, why had he done that?

Stomach heaving, he turned over and stood, barely making it to the bathroom before he threw up, spraying his hospital breakfast all over the sink. It didn't take long to empty everything, and then he was dry retching, shaking, gasping, panting. He had tried to kill her, had almost strangled the life from her. Oh, God, his hands could have been stained with her blood. He could imagine it on there now, and the sudden urge to wash his trembling limbs took him over.

The heavy stream of water from the tap was the only noise in the room as he scrubbed his fingers and palms until they were red raw. And then he scrubbed them some more.

He was still panting, he realized as he shut the taps off. And he was beginning to think it wasn't all due to nearly killing some woman who had appeared to him… who had become solid… and… his mind wasn't working properly, and he knew it was because the room was too hot, too humid, and it was affecting his mind like it was affecting his ability to breath.

He stumbled from the bathroom, slamming the door back against the wall and staggering towards the exit. He almost tripped over the shotgun, narrowly avoided the bed, moved around whatever should have been between his bed and the wall and wasn't there. The door loomed in his suddenly tunnelling vision, and he only just suppressed the urge to kick it open, grabbing the handle instead, shoving it with his shoulder when his hand couldn't open it fast enough. He had to get out, he had to get out of there, this wasn't, no, it was, what was he thinking, this was his life, that woman, she had been crazy. He just had to get out.

The weak sunlight seemed to burn his eyes and he fell back, stumbling, staggering, taking a huge deep breathe. The first thing he saw was –

_He was bent over double, heart clenched, but it had nothing to do with any injury. Not a physical one anyway. "If you screwed up my car… I'll kill you." –_

"_Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole." – _

"Dean, what's wrong?"

His mother's frantic voice cut through the flashes, and he pulled his eyes away from the Impala, his head feeling heavy as he felt Mary's grip on his arms. She wasn't the next thing he saw though. No, his vision fell on –

_The man from the hospital stood before him, the Impala to Dean's right. The man looked younger, not by much, but also cleaner, softer almost – it took years off of him, and weight, and he looked like he could have just stepped out of college._

"_I can't do this on my own," Dean claimed, and the man gave him a knowing head shake._

"_Yes you can." Even his voice sounded different, as if he had yet to see or do the things that would make him so much harder._

"_Yeah, well, I don't want to." –_

_The diner was warm, cheerful, and the staff were… more than pleasant. But at that moment his eyes were full of the man from the hospital, who had one of his stubborn looks plastered on. _

"_We will find Dad." – _

_Again the man stood beside him, as if it were his customary place, and together they made a pair. A bloodied, bruised pair thankful to escape with their lives. _

_And then his vision fell on the figure by the window. He called out, his instincts frayed, but he didn't care. And it didn't matter, not when he turned on the light and the figure by the window turned, revealing a harrowed man who resembled –_

"Dad!" Dean breathed heavily, tearing his eyes from the man before the flashes could continue. And his eyes fell on his mother's…

The flashes were relentless.

_He almost didn't recognise the house, not in the dark, not after twenty-two years. But he recognised the man behind him, felt a little shocked to realize the man was pinned to the wall. And he recognised the gun, the shotgun full of rocksalt, aimed, pointed at a flaming figure before them._

"_Wait, wait, don't shoot!" the man ordered, and Dean couldn't understand._

"_What, why?"_

"_Because I know who it is," the man told him in a wondrous voice, awed, a little terrified, expectant. "I can see her now."_

_And as his hand lowered, as the gun lowered, the flames roared, taking shape slowly, until they made the image of his –_

"No!" Dean shouted, tearing himself from Mary's grip and spinning away. That woman had been wrong, those flashes weren't real. His mother wasn't dead, and he had never once been back to that cursed house in Lawrence.

So then, why did everything feel so right?

"Dean?" Mary asked in a small, frightened voice, and the younger man flinched to hear it. And then flinched again as she gently touched his shoulder. "Honey, what's wrong?"

He turned slowly, his mind racing, heart pounding. And then something… wondrous happened. The racing, the pounding… as he stared into her eyes, as he looked at her and felt that awful, terrible feeling of wrongness, it stopped. The racing and the pounding ceased and he took a deep breathe. The woman had been lying.

"You can't be dead," he told her in a whisper. And then he fell, the darkness consuming him before he hit the ground.

* * *

The 'landing' hit Sam with a jolt and he sat up instantly, every inch of him aching. He groaned, putting a hand to his head – the hand that had been clenched over Laura's.

With a start he remembered her, and looked around, breathing easier when he saw her eyes blinking back tears, when he saw her gasping slightly, steadily, deliberately. Faint traces of hands were already fading from around her neck.

"What the hell happened?"

Sam jumped as he heard Morgan, realizing for the first time that the man was standing somewhere behind them, face white. He didn't answer though, just looked at Laura, who was watching him suspiciously.

"I guess you can do it, then," she told him. Sam shrugged, and her eyes narrowed. "Doesn't mean you're going to," she warned him.

He took a deep breath and looked over Dean, making sure everything was the same as when Sam had fallen asleep. Morgan was still watching the two psychics with some frustration.

"Ah, excuse me. Can someone please tell me what happened?" he demanded. "I come in here, find you both dead asleep… and I couldn't wake up either of you."

Sam swallowed somewhat guiltily while Laura answered him. "The demon trapped me there. Sam jumped in after me, saved my life."

The hunter shook his head. "I didn't jump in. I fell in. That song you were humming made me fall asleep. I heard the demon ordering Dean to kill you, focused on that… came out to find Dean…"

He trailed off, and Laura absently placed a hand at her throat. Morgan was still frustrated though.

"That doesn't really explain anything though."

Sam shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Dean's going to be harder to convince then we suspected. A lot harder. But he recognised me."

Laura looked at him sharply. "He did?" He could feel her struggling to read his mind and kept his thoughts still. She was tired, he could hide what he had to. He could lie, at the moment. He just had to move this whole thing along faster if he wanted to get it done. If _he_ wanted to get it done.

"Why's he harder to convince?" Morgan asked, and Laura decided to answer him before Sam could give an answer to her own question.

"Because the demon's got a hold on his mind. He's manipulating Dean. He's having flashes of his real memories, but he doesn't know they're real. I got the feeling he didn't want to. But even if that weren't the case, the demon isn't going to let go easily. We've got a fight on out hands."

Sam nodded. "That's for sure. Did you suspect the demon would be able to trap you there?"

Laura shook her head. "I had no idea. When I go back -."

Sam cut her off. "Not a chance. I'm going in next. He almost killed you. And he knows me. I'll be able to convince him. He'll trust me."

So he wasn't being one hundred percent. Actually, he was practically lying through his teeth. Dean had recognised him, but not as a brother. But Laura didn't know that, not now. She was exhausted, and her powers were off. Besides, now he knew who the demon was masquerading as. He had recognised that voice, as horrible as it had been. He just didn't want Laura knowing. He needed to go.

Letting his thoughts die down, he realized Laura was watching him carefully. He matched her stare eye for eye, and she was the one to back down, shaking her head.

"Fine. Tomorrow. I'll help you in tomorrow. You need to sleep now, eat… gather your strength."

She stood and paced one length of the room, coming to stand beside the window. She turned to face him.

"Let's get one thing straight, Sam," she told him sternly. "I don't want you to do this. I don't like it, and I think there's more to this whole deal than anyone's saying or thinks. But…" and she heaved a sigh at this. "But I think you're the only that's going to get Dean out of there, especially if he recognises you."

She didn't believe him, Sam realized. He avoided swallowing once more, and nodded, breaking her gaze to stare down at Dean, and frowned. Where was the feeling of consuming darkness coming from?

And then all hell broke loose.

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So who do you all think the demon is? Cookies for anyone who guesses right!


	9. Chapter 9: Aftershock

**Chapter 9: Aftershock**

The width of the hallway wasn't long enough for pacing as Sam struggled to control his breathing, and the roaring monster inside that had the name of Impatience.

Because he knew it was bad. And he knew it was because of Laura's intrusion into Dean's dream reality. And his own rescue mission.

Because, obviously, coma patients didn't _just_ fall deeper and crash, unable to breath, with machines beeping everywhere, doctors flooding the room, hands pulling at him, cries, screams he didn't recognise as his own.

He found himself at the wall and turned, wondering if it were possible to actually wear a hole in the floor or if that was some superstition to stop people from pacing. He felt like he should know, and he probably would have if his mind had been able to string together any coherent thoughts that didn't involve Dean and the fear of being left alone.

After what seemed an eternity – didn't these things always feel that long – the doctors began emerging from the room. Sam spun on the spot, thankful Laura and Morgan had disappeared to give him space. Going by the looks on the doctors' faces, he didn't want anyone seeing his reaction.

Then Ellis came out and his eyes immediately fell on Sam. The doctor began making his way towards the hunter and Sam moved to meet him.

"Please tell me he's alive."

The words just popped out and Sam almost couldn't believe he had said it, but he didn't care, not when Ellis nodded.

"He's still alive. We got him back on line, but we're moving him to ICU."

Sam's stomach dropped. "Why? What happened?"

Ellis glanced back to the door, and then down the hallway where three orderlies were making their way towards Dean's room. Sam looked as well, and felt himself begin to loom, fear feeding his anger and frustration.

"Ellis, tell me what the hell is happening with my brother."

The soft order made Ellis turn and look up, seeing for the first time the reason why Sam had still been fighting after days in a cell, torture, and a bullet to the shoulder. "Look, Sam," he began. "Dean has taken a turn for the worse. We got him back, but we had to put him on a ventilator. He wasn't able to breath on his own. His body is shutting down, a lot like yours was a week ago. His organs are beginning to fail. Whatever's wrong with him, it's picking up its pace. Trouble is…" And he sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Trouble is, Sam, I don't know what's wrong with him. No one does. All we can do is treat the symptoms, not the cause, but the fact remains that… that your brother isn't doing well. I'm sorry. You boys are sure having a bad run of it."

_We always are,_ Sam kept to himself. Out loud he said, "But none of the other coma patients, the ones with my irregularities, none of them began dying, did they? They all just died suddenly, right?"

Ellis almost didn't answer. But just when Sam was seriously on the verge of shaking him, the doctor nodded. "That's right. They all just died, suddenly, unexpectedly. Dean's deteriorating a lot quicker."

Sam nodded, sighing and slouching once more, rubbing his eyes. The orderlies were in Dean's room now, making noise and the hunter avoided wincing. He turned back to Ellis.

"Can I stay with him?" he asked gently, and Ellis nodded immediately, knowing there was no way he was keeping the brothers apart.

"I'll make arrangements for you to stay. But Officer Morgan, and that woman, they can't stay. Okay?" Sam nodded. "Give them half an hour to settle Dean in. Go have something to eat, or drink. You need to take care of yourself as well, Sam. And then you'll be able to see Dean."

Sam thanked the man and rubbed his eyes again. Everything had just taken a turn for the worse. It looked like he didn't have ten days to save Dean now. Screw tomorrow.

"I'm going in tonight, and I don't care what you say," he told Laura where he found her and Morgan in the cafeteria. "Either help me or not."

* * *

"Dean, honey"

The voice was scared, gentle, and sounded like home. Dean moved slightly, wanting more of that voice and what it meant. But he didn't open his eyes. Not yet. He just wanted to rest a bit longer.

"Just a bit longer, Mum," he muttered and he heard two people heave with relief.

"Dean, come on son. Open your eyes."

Well, he never had been one to disobey that voice, not even now, when fear laced it. He let his eyes flutter open and looked up into the faces of his parents.

"What happened?" he asked, looking around. He was in his motel room, lying down on the bed. And his head felt… fuzzy. His memory was hazy, his thoughts slow. What had happened? And why was his head playing tricks? He would never strangle a woman. He knew himself better than that.

"You collapsed, honey," Mary breathed, bringing him back to them. He stared up at the two and frowned.

"Collapsed?" he asked, and John nodded.

"Maybe we shouldn't have taken you from the hospital so soon," the older man admitted, and Dean shook his head.

"No, I'm fine. Seriously." And to prove he was right, he sat up, with little enough dizziness that he could hide it. Waiting for the room to stop spinning, he still managed a grin at his parents. "See. I'm fine."

Mary didn't look convinced. "Dean, people don't collapse if they're fine. What happened? And what did you say to me before you fell?"

_You can't be dead._ That thought stilled him, as clear as anything else in his mind, and clearer than most of the thoughts creating that jumbled mess in his head. He felt himself shake his head.

"I don't know," he told them. "I just wasn't feeling well. But I feel great now."

He was lying, and they knew it. Parents always knew it. "Dean -."

He cut them off, knowing exactly what they were about to say. "No, no, no. I'm not staying here tonight. Sam was my little brother. There's no way I'm not having a part in this."

"Dean, you'd be a liability."

"I don't care!" Dean yelled, his temper getting the better of him quickly. "I'm going, and if you try to stop me, I'll just follow. I don't care what you try, you are _not_ keeping me out of this fight."

"Dean, you collapsed. Even now your dizzy, and don't say you're not, because I can tell," Mary told him sternly. "You'll still have a part to play in this fight. But this psychic… he's one evil son of a bitch. And if you're not a hundred percent -."

He had heard enough, and cut her off with an icy voice. "No, Mum. Don't even try it. You're not keeping me out of this, and that's that. We're stronger as a family, you know we are. And we need to be as strong as possible to get this bastard."

There was a long silence, before Mary sighed, and Dean knew he had won. "Fine," his mother muttered. "You can come, but only if you swear you'll rest until then. And you'll take it easy. Be twice as careful tonight as you would normally."

He nodded earnestly. "Of course I will. Wouldn't dream of risking my neck." Another lie, and they knew it. But neither said anything, just leaned back, obviously not happy with their decision.

"Get some rest, son," John ordered him, and Dean nodded. "Me and your mum can get everything ready. We'll wake you a but before it's time to go."

It was only when his parents had disappeared through the door, closing it behind them, and he had turned on his side to try and get some sleep that he realized. The entire time since he had woken up, he hadn't had one flash or a single moment of feeling that everything was wrong. And he half-smiled, half-frowned to himself, wondering why and glad he wasn't. He really didn't like thinking he was going crazy. His head, that woman, they had all been lying. This was real. It had to be.

His mum couldn't be dead.

* * *

The small garden had become a kind of refuge for Sam over the week of being sequestered in the hospital. At times when Dean had been away, and he had actually managed to get away from Ash and Anya, he had come to the garden just to sit, to try and figure things out. For the past week he had been hiding, not just from his mothering companions, but from memories, of fists and hot knives.

Now he was just trying to still his thoughts enough to ready his mind for tonight. When he would be using his still growing, still shaky, still terrifyingly unpredictable psychic abilities to enter Dean's dreaming reality, and try to bring him back. All without killing his older brother, or letting the demon kill Sam himself.

Laura had spent the entire afternoon instructing him in the many dangers associated with entering the demon's dream reality. He had been slightly shocked to learn she actually hadn't done it before Dean, having never come across a dream demon before. She had just known how, apparently, and was far more used to dealing with people's dreams while outside of them.

He had told her it would have been good to know this before she went into the dream. And had then walked out.

He hadn't been back since she had revealed that little fact. But that hadn't been everything she had told him. She had wanted to make sure he knew everything she knew so he wouldn't go killing himself in the demon's reality.

Sam had since forgotten it all. He found he didn't really care. Not about dying; that wasn't exactly on his list of things to do any time soon. But he had absolutely no qualms about forgetting Laura's instructions, reasoning that she hadn't exactly been doing the best job of keeping her life while in the dream. Not unless she had very skewed views on breathing.

The sun had set by the time he got up, wincing with the stiffness that came from sitting in the one spot for far too long. He soon got over it and walked through the door back into the sterile hospital. He sighed.

Dean's room in ICU was dark, the only light coming from a hooded lamp in the corner. It was almost as comforting as the garden, in its own way. It was only Dean's limp, pallid form, with the tube stuck down his throat, that ruined it.

He took the seat left next to Dean's bed, opposite the door, and leaned forward, eyeing his big brother. He wasn't used to this. Seeing his brother so still, so helpless, so unconscious. He knew how Dean had felt barely a week ago now.

Sighing, he grabbed onto Dean's hand and laid his head down, determined to get some sleep before Laura showed up about midnight. Then he had a big brother to rescue.

* * *

And so the rescue mission begins… not tomorrow night… or Friday night. Sorry people, you'll have to wait until Saturday… my bad.


	10. Chapter 10: Crossing Paths

**Author's Note:** So, back from my end of week, twelve hour shift nightmare, and back to what's important to us all! Here's the next chapter of False Beckoning, and I hope you all enjoy it!

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Chapter 10: Crossing Paths

The house was big, a storey taller than any of its neighbours, and cold. The night was warm, but Dean shivered as he circled around to the back. The house loomed above, uninviting. Maybe it was just because he knew the bastard who lived here was one of the most evil men in all creation. A double-crossing psychic soldier of the demon who was selling out his own species with every breath.

He paused and squatted, studying the back of the house. It would be his job to sneak in this way, taking out – silently – any… thing that he came across before the three of them confronted the psychic. His parents were taking the front.

Finally satisfied no one was watching him, he stood up straight, took a better hold on his gun, and sprinted across the perfectly manicured back lawn. The garden was impressive, like the house, but it still resonated the feeling that the owner didn't particularly care, besides about looking important.

He reached the back wall, flattening himself against it to minimise exposure. The back door was made of glass, with only a simple lock and no alarm. Either the psychic had no need or he hadn't expected someone to get this close to him. Dean decided it was a bit of both as he picked the lock and slipped into the house.

The lower storey was quiet and dark, the lights off. Using only the moonlight to guide him, Dean manoeuvred through the stainless steel kitchen and then, sudden insight telling him the psychic had to be upstairs, he climbed the winding case, gun up, steady, nerves hiding somewhere deep enough to be unnoticeable.

The idea of waiting for his parents didn't even cross Dean's mind as he came out onto the second storey. Still no one challenged him, the whole house seemingly devoid of anybody or anything.

There was only one light in the whole house, and Dean was drawn to it like a moth to a flame. The floor didn't even creak as he crept across the thick carpet.

In a short time he had come to the door, and behind it was silence. He knew though. Knew the psychic was in there. Knew tonight was the beginning of the end. For him or for the demon, he wasn't sure, but one of them was going to win the battle, tonight, that would see them win the war.

Again, his parents didn't even enter the equation.

Easily summoning his courage, Dean put a hand on the handle, the cold of the metal reminding him of the reality. Those nerves, so foreign but a moment ago, filled him, and he let them, knowing they would only help. They would only help.

He opened the door into the beginning of the end…

And stopped barely a foot past the threshold, stunned and suddenly feeling all of a sudden helpless.

His parents faced him, their faces sagging in defeat, pinned two feet above the floor against the wall, bright blood seeping from a gash in Mary's head, staining her golden hair. Dean's jaw dropped, but the gun didn't, coming to rest instead on the figure with his back turned to the hunter. The source of his parent's captivity. His aim refused to move, even when the psychic turned, and Dean's stomach did a flip as recognition hit him all too hard.

"You," he breathed, voice catching as the man from his flashes, the man who had been haunting him in the hospital, turned to face him with an evil grin on his cold face, a grin that never touched his eyes.

"About time you got here, big brother."

* * *

Sam was awake again when Laura and Morgan snuck into Dean's room, and looked up as they came to stand opposite him. Laura was looking about as worried as Sam was nervous. Even Morgan was twitching anxiously. Each of them was stressed.

The hunter didn't waste time on small talk, motioning at the chair left in the corner when it became clear no one else was allowed in. Laura dragged it over to sit beside him and he gazed into her eyes.

"Ready?" she asked, and he nodded, mouth suddenly too dry to talk. She picked up on it.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Sam?" she asked cautiously and he nodded once more, finding his voice.

"Of course I am. Let's just get to it."

She was still too tired after her earlier efforts to pick up on his misgivings. He just hoped he could convince Dean before his brother confronted the demon that was killing him slowly. Determined he wasn't about to lose his one last family member, he grabbed onto Dean's hand with both of his own.

Laura sighed. "Well, if you're sure. Remember what I told you. Just concentrate on my humming. It shouldn't be too hard, it got you today. And keep that picture of Dean firmly in your mind."

He nodded and bolstered his courage, unaware his brother was doing exactly the same thing in another reality. He could do this.

"I'm ready," he informed his companions. Morgan shifted where he stood but made no sound. "If a doctor comes in, stop him. Don't let anything interrupt me. I'll come back when I've got Dean and not before."

Laura's jaw dropped. "No, no way. You'll have a set time limit or you won't be going at all."

Sam almost argued, gritting his teeth stubbornly. But seeing the exact same look on the older psychic's face made him realize it was useless. She wouldn't let him go if he didn't agree. The short nod was almost painful.

"Fine, let's do this."

He turned back to Dean and closed his eyes, picturing his older brother in his head instead. After a moment of indecision, Laura began humming.

He fell quickly, spinning into unconsciousness, wildly descending to another place, another world, the picture in his head the only solid thing he could hold on to. That, and the melody ringing in his ears.

* * *

"About time you got here, big brother," the psychic claimed in a high voice, sending more shivers down Dean's spine. He barely felt them under the sudden shock.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean demanded, and the psychic chuckled. He felt the shivers this time.

"Come on, what did you all think the demon did with me? What did you think he wanted?"

Dean shook his head, finding himself unable to think of an answer. The psychic, his little brother – _no, it couldn't be Sammy, Sammy's safe, he is, I took him from that fire –_ his little brother, his Sam, their Sam…

Mary had tears running down her face. "God, no, you can't be Sam," she whispered hoarsely. At the sound of his mother's helplessness, Dean felt a savagery tear at his heart and blacken his soul.

"You're not Sam," he spat, silently growling. "Sam died twenty-two years ago. You're a monster, using his shell, using his face. The demon took Sam, and twisted him, killed him slowly until he became you," the hunter promised, cocking the gun, anger making him lose control. "And for even _daring_ to use his face, I am going to make you suffer!"

The psychic – he refused to acknowledge him as Sam, refused to acknowledge a failure he had no memory of – chuckled, a deep slow chuckle that bubbled into outright amusement, hacking laughs that echoed around the room. His – their – parents flinched but never moved from their invisible chains against the wall.

Slowly the laugh died down, the evil mirth in the psychic's eyes the only reminder as it stared deep into Dean's crashing soul. "I dare you to even try, big brother."

Unthinking, Dean pulled the trigger, the sound of the rock salt cartridge exploding from the end of the barrel a loud shot that echoed just as the psychic's laugh had.

But the rock salt never touched the demon's soldier. Faster than could be possible, the psychic twisted, the repellent flying past him harmlessly. Before Dean could even register that he had missed – and that he had absolutely no chance at all at beating the psychic wearing his brother's face – he was flying through the air.

* * *

Back in the real world, Dean's body jerked slightly, the movement not even registering on the machines plugged into the hunter. Still humming, Laura shared an anxious look with Morgan, who was leaning against the door. Unnoticed by either, Dean's hand almost jerked out of Sam's grip, but the younger brother pulled back, a slight mewling sound escaping him, unheard above the humming. His hands never let go of his brothers as his mind struggled to find the source of that contact.

* * *

Dean never lost consciousness, but it was as if he had, that was how fast the psychic could move. One moment he was still standing by the Winchester parents, the next he was standing above Dean, pulling at his long-lost brother with a telekinetic power so strong the older man felt fear clench his heart even as he thudded into the wall, head nearly brushing the roof.

Standing below him, the psychic laughed, before sending Dean crashing to the middle of the room with only a flick of his eyes.

The hunter rolled to a stop, holding on to fractured ribs and breathing heavily. He had landed on his shotgun, but had somehow managed to retain enough wit about him to grab onto it. Lying so still that the psychic thought he was unconscious, Dean waited for the opportune time. It came not a moment later.

The psychic neared him and Dean waited still, hand clutching the shotgun as tightly as he could. And then, as the large hand touched him, grabbed him, prepared to roll him over, Dean lashed out.

The butt of the shotgun hit the psychic in the nose, and Dean was filled with a malicious pleasure as they all found out the psychic wasn't invincible. Dean rolled to his feet, kicking out and loving the sight of the blood pouring from the psychic's nose.

His foot never connected. Suddenly that sense of everything being wrong, the idea of hitting this evil bastard being absolutely abhorrent hit him, and he faltered, savage grin slipping. When that feeling left him a moment later, he had already lost his chance. And the psychic was on his feet.

Dean lashed out again, knowing all too well that he had no chance. The psychic, the blood on his face making him seem all the more demonic, grinned and blocked the gun almost lazily.

"Come on big brother, you can do better than that," he told the hunter, cocking his head. And once more Dean flew back, hitting the wall and falling to the floor in a daze.

The psychic was chuckling over him, a horrible sound Dean wished he could silence. But he suddenly didn't have the strength. He wished, wished with every bone and thought in him that he could fight back, could kick this bitch's ass. But…

The psychic leaned down and pulled him up by the throat, slamming him into the wall and holding them in a display of supernatural physical strength.

"So pathetic, Dean," it whispered, using his name for the first time, in a voice that he didn't recognise. "I don't know why I didn't go after you in the first place." And then it grinned, triumph suddenly resonating from every inch of its being. "It doesn't matter I guess. Everything will be in its place in but a moment." Dean struggled under its grip, somehow able to breathe, but caring more about what it meant.

And as if on cue, a shaky voice called out from the corner of the room.

"Dad?"

And then, as Dean turned his head to look down upon an exact replica of the psychic holding him, the ghost-like apparition went white as his form nearly solidified, giving an obvious swallow.

And, in a shakier voice choked with unshed tears, he uttered one word, barely getting it higher than a breathy whisper.

"Mum."

The psychic holding him looked Dean in the eye, grinning deeply. "And so the party begins."

* * *

Now Sam wasn't expecting this at all! Next post tomorrow night!


	11. Chapter 11: The Fight Begins

**Warning:** Swearing enters the story here, not too much, but I think most of you know by now that I like leaving a little note up here.

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Chapter 11: The Fight Begins

Sam wasn't sure how long he fell for but suddenly he stopped, the melody fading slightly as he his feet hit something solid. And then it was little but background music as the nothingness around him melded into something.

That something being a large room, a bedroom filled with sumptuous furniture and dark hangings, as well as four people – three people, one demon – battling it out in Dean's mind.

And that was what shocked him.

Because two of those people he had suspected. Dean and the demon in Sam's own form, he had known he would face them both at some point during his journey in Dean's dreamland. But it was the other two which stopped him cold, an anger seeping into him under the grief and shock he felt at seeing his parents once more. His dead parents.

"Dad?" He called out softly, not caring that he pulled all attention to himself. And then his voice caught and the next word came out choked. "Mum."

His replica muttered something to Dean that Sam couldn't hear under the daze seeing his parents had sent him into. He hadn't counted on that. No doubt they were mere illusions of the demons, but illusions that would still try to kill him, Sam knew. Could he defend himself properly against his own parents?

Before he could answer that himself, the entire world lurched, and Sam felt his whole body flare brightly, at least to his own eyes. And the flare seared him, pulling, yanking at him in every possible way, like he was being pulled through a vacuum cleaner or something. And he screamed with the burning suction filling his body.

* * *

Laura flinched and Morgan looked from her to Dean, but it wasn't at the older hunter that the psychic was staring. She clasped her hand around Sam's shoulder, eyes brimming with fear. Because she knew. She knew that now, he was as much stuck in there, in Dean's dream, as Dean himself was, like she had been. But he didn't have another Sam to save him, to pull himself out, like he had for her. He would have to find some other way to save himself, and to save Dean.

And she wasn't sure that he could do it.

* * *

Sam realized he was kneeling on the floor, fists clenched against the ground, shaking. Solid fists shaking. The demon had yanked him into this world and now he was as stuck as Dean was.

He looked up, for the first time noticing everyone was staring at him. His parents had agonisingly absent glares painted on, and Sam knew they were here only for Dean's benefit, staring down at him with anger and fear, like he was the bad guy. And in this reality, he guessed he was. Or rather, the Sam standing in front of him, with his cocky and triumphant crooked grin was.

Something had changed, he realized. He looked around, taking in his motionless parents, the demon standing over him, Dean against the wall, not really looking at him, and just knew. Something in this world had changed. He just couldn't figure out what.

He staggered to his feet, refusing to bow before the demon masquerading as him. Still a little shaky he glared at the beast, wishing he had arrived in Dean's dream earlier, before his brother had seen the demon. Before his brother had tried to kill the demon. This was going to make things tricky, trying to convince Dean while the demon was standing there in front of them both.

The demon was the first to speak. "You Winchesters, so predictable. All of you, you all have this insane need to rescue people on a daily basis, all the better if its your own sibling. So fucking predictable."

It all but spat that last sentence, drawing it out slowly and leaning forward. Sam raised his chin and crossed his arms defiantly, having absolutely no clue what the demon was talking about.

"Give me back my brother," he ordered, knowing it wasn't going to work, and wishing he hadn't when the demon-as-him let out a high laugh that resembled his own all too much.

"Oh, weren't you here for that, Sam," the demon told him with an evil mirth. "Dean has no brother. You're a monster, using his brother's shell. Sammy died twenty-two years ago. Isn't that right, Dean?"

For the first time Sam had to dare himself to look at his own brother, not sure if he would like what he saw. But he forced his head to turn, gazing down at the older hunter.

Dean looked terrible, pale and shaking, with red, tired eyes. But he didn't seem aware of it, moving from the ground with his usual spryness to glance between the two Sams, taking them both in with a look of confusion and helplessness that tore at the younger man. He spoke up before Dean could shatter him further.

"Dean, man, come on. You know me."

Dean's denying head shake was expected but it still hurt like hell. "No, I don't," he told the little brother he didn't recognise. "You've been… one of you've been haunting me, but I don't know either of you."

The demon laughed. "See, Sam. He's a lost cause."

Sam ignored the hell spawn, and, taking a deep breath, turned his back on it, taking a hesitant step towards his brother. He heard the demon's intake of breath at his defiant back turn.

"Dean, I know I'm in there somewhere. I know you've been having flashes, Laura told me."

He said it in a gentle voice, hating the fact that he was treating his older brother like an invalid. But he had to go about this carefully, he knew.

Dean reacted to something in what Sam had said, head twitching. "Laura?" he whispered. "The woman… did I kill her?"

He sounded so desperate. Sam shook his head quickly. "No, she's still very much alive, and still as stubborn as ever. But she was right, you've got to concentrate on the flashes."

"Those fucking flashes!" The demon called it out and Sam turned to face his own angry glare. "They've almost ruined everything, them and your fucking stubbornness! Goddamn Winchesters, I'll make sure you drown in those damn visions! I ought to do it right -." Sam cut him off.

"Shut up!" the younger hunter spat, quivering in rage. "You bring my brother here, show him copies of our _dead_ parents and slowly suck the life from him! Just shut up! He's my brother, my brother! And you're not taking him from me!"

He was screaming, he realized, as he took a breath, losing control of himself as he realized he was losing control of the situation. Not that he had owned much control when he had arrived here.

And then the world shattered.

"Dean, honey, don't listen to him."

Both Winchesters spun to stare at their mother, though only one knew she was a mirage tugging at his heart and leaving him subconsciously wishing that all this was real.

She stared down at Dean, though sparing a livid look for Sam, the real Sam. His breath caught at the look and for a second he shared Max Miller's world, where his parent stared at him with real hate burning in her eyes.

"He's not your brother, Dean," she told her son. "You were right, Sam died twenty-two years ago, and now this monster is trying to destroy you in any way possible before actually killing you."

Sam swallowed, knowing nothing he said would be able to contradict those words from their sacred idol, whether she was real or not, whether she was spouting the demon's words or not. His heart sank while it pounded with fear, a ticking bomb sinking to the depths of his soul.

Again, Mary glared at him, and Sam had to take a step back, almost unwilling to believe it. Almost. And then she looked imploringly back at Dean.

"Dean, believe me. _That_ is not Sammy."

"Of course I'm Sam," the besieged hunter snapped, moving to look at Dean, who was glancing between his mother and the brother he didn't recognise. "Look, Dean, I know you remember me. What do you remember about here?"

The silence his question left was satisfaction made audio. He let it sink in.

"I remember you haunting me," Dean muttered after a moment, determined to find something wrong with what Sam was telling him.

"But I'm no ghost," Sam pointed out. "When I appeared, in the hospital, I was crossing into your dream, into this reality, the one that demon has trapped you in. The way I must have crossed into Rebecca Lonsdale's when you killed her," he realized, thinking out loud, looking back at himself. And himself wasn't happy.

"You think you're so clever," it spat so softly that only Sam heard it. Then, louder, "But you're a lying bastard."

"You're a lying bastard," Mary repeated, the words sounding so much worse coming from her. "Dean, listen to me."

The order was so forceful that Dean even took a step forward to where she was still pinned against the wall, regal even spread against the wall in a position much too like that in which she had actually died. Not that either hunter knew that.

"This impostor is not your brother."

"The flashes -." Sam began, before Mary viciously cut him off.

"Are being sent by you to make our son think he's insane!" she growled. It was too easy for Dean to believe her instantly, and he spun to stare in horror at Sam, who hadn't thought his heart could sink any longer. He had been wrong.

"You bastard, you…" he trailed off, shaking his head.

"No!" Sam denied. "I'm not the one sending those." There was more than a touch of desperation about him. "That is your real life, Dean, your real memories."

"No, they are not," Mary told them all firmly. "Dean, don't listen to this evil shit. He's trying to make you crazy."

"No I am not!" Sam yelled, taking a step back. This wasn't going any way he could ever have imagined. He looked around hopelessly, looking for any way out of the hole he was digging for himself. But all he found was the triumphant grins of his parents and the demon. "Dean, please listen to me… Why were you in the hospital?"

Now that drew some blank stares, and one shocked one from Dean. "I was hurt," he told Sam. The younger hunter nodded, knowing he was on to something.

"Yeah, but how? By what?"

Again, silence reigned. Sam allowed himself a triumphant grin. "What do you actually remember of your life? What do you know of your childhood, your life leading up to that moment you woke in hospital? Do you remember… your first day at school, your first kiss, the first time one of us was injured? Do you remember anything at all?"

It was obvious this had never occurred to Dean before, and he sent a questioning, hopeful glance at his parents, willing them to answer before he lost all faith in them and this world.

Their answer was to attack and suddenly Sam found himself facing an enemy wearing his family as a costume.

Before he knew it, his parents were on the floor, and the demon and John came at him, murderous intent vivid in their eyes. Sam backed away quickly, knowing his triumph had gone too quickly and now it would mean his life.

While in the corner of his eye, Mary approached Dean, curved blade in hand, a feral grin on her face.

* * *

Oh no!


	12. Chapter 12: Something Changed

**Author's Note:** Okay, so it's late, and I'm tired, and you're all very lucky that I'm posting at all. That said, that's the reason I haven't replied to anyone's emails. I'm really sorry, but I've been busy, and I wish I had time, but it's not happening. SORRY!

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Chapter 12: Something Changed

Sam ducked under his father's swinging punch and tackled the demon, punching once before he rolled to come to his feet. In the corner Mary was whispering in Dean's ear, knife nowhere near her son, as the hunter watched the fight with disturbing fascination. But Sam could neither hear what she was coercing him into or do anything to stop it. He had his own life to contend for and if he couldn't save himself, there was no way he could save Dean.

Growling the demon stood up, a savage look on its face, and came at the identical hunter. Sam dodged the bed as he took one, two, three steps back, trying to gain some kind of upper hand. It wasn't about to happen.

Moving fast, though not as fast as Sam would have expected, the demon was behind him, and Sam was encased in its arms as John closed in.

Sam had only ever seen that feral look in his father's eyes on a handful of occasions, and only ever when one of his sons was in serious danger. To see it now, directed at him, dazed Sam almost as much as the first punch did.

His father's apparition was as strong as the real man had been, and it was that thought that pulled Sam from the unconsciousness the third punch was sending him closer to.

Steeling himself, Sam looked up with one bruising eye, spitting out blood at the same time. Another punch was coming mercilessly his way, and he waited until it was almost too late. And then he ducked his head to the side.

His father's fist hit the demon, which nearly buckled under the sudden hit. Sam took the opportunity to double the impact, shoving his head up into his twin's chin.

The demon let him go, more blood pouring from it's now shattered nose. Sam winced at seeing his own deformed face, but didn't stumble as he turned and leapt for where Mary was still muttering in Dean's ear.

He didn't get very far. In fact he had hardly realized he had left his course before he found the bookcase rushing to meet him.

* * *

In reality, Sam's body cried out, and once more the two left behind shared a worried look. They could see unexplainable bruises appearing on Sam, could see him flinching and knew not everything was going according to plan.

Laura's grip on Sam's shoulder tightened, as if she could somehow anchor him to this world. She knew it was a futile attempt, knew the only way Sam was getting out was if Dean admitted he was in a dreamland. And apparently that wasn't happening.

Still humming she turned to look up at Morgan, who was biting his lip with worry. Her own anxiety was coming through in her melody, faster and less serene. It wasn't like it was helping Sam anymore though. Rather, it was for her own comfort. Sam didn't need her to keep him in the dream reality, not when the demon was doing that for him.

* * *

Sam groaned and began to pick himself up slowly from where he had fallen to the floor. Books lay strewn around him, and the remains of the bookcase that had broken when he had hit it. It hadn't stopped the pieces from hitting him though.

At least he had a hand getting up. The demon, in all its glorious demonic strength, heaved him to his feet, slamming Sam into the wall and once more knocking the breath from him, though admittedly he hadn't had much breath in him to knock out. Still dazed he could barely comprehend the fist coming for him, could barely gather himself to defend.

Still, barely was enough.

He was a Winchester after all, as he had proven so many times over the past year. And that was his advantage over the clones fighting him. Because while they might look like Winchesters, might fight like Winchesters, might call themselves Winchesters, they lacked that flat refusal to lay down and die which had given the family of hunters their fabled name in the supernatural community.

Moving faster than his foes would have thought possible, Sam punched the demon in the face, wincing as he hit himself. He backed it up with a knee though, and this time winced in empathy when the demon revealed its human side and buckled under the sudden pain in its nether-regions.

But this was no time for Sam to be squeamish. Half his concentration already on searching, he shoved at the demon, and the doubled creature fell into John as the older man was moving forward to aid the supernatural bastard.

As they both rushed to disentangle themselves from the floor, Sam dived for the shotgun he had immediately seen lying carelessly on the floor when he had… arrived. Having been unfortunately unarmed, the weapon was an attractive target, and before the demon or his father had gotten up, Sam was holding the familiar gun in his hand. Apparently some material vestiges from Dean's real life had been carried over into this reality, and Sam was damn grateful for it.

By the time his opponents were on their feet once more, Sam held the gun pointed at them. Before he had a chance to think about it, think about anything and everything it could possibly represent, he had pulled the trigger, releasing an unwilling cry of grief at the same time. The shot covered it though, and only Sam heard the noise.

Stunned into incomprehension, John stared for a moment at the rocksalt littering his chest. Sam stared at it too, with a sick fascination that would have left him gagging and reeling if he had given it his usually thought. Instead he welcomed the overbearing silence – of both his mind and the room – as John faded into oblivion, disappearing from the dream, accompanied by a high-pitched shriek that filled every corner that the silence had, a shriek Sam knew came from the demon.

He turned to that very demon, a vengeful light in his eyes as he cocked the gun for what would be the final time. His own eyes stared back at him, wide with terror, but Sam didn't care. This was for his brother.

"I told you that you'd never take him," he warned the demon, before pulling the trigger.

The aim was true, as if anything less was expected of a Winchester, and, like John before him, the demon stared down at his ruined chest, a mixture of wonder and satisfaction warring over his marred face. Before Sam had time to contemplate what that meant, the demon faded with that same shriek filling the room, and he decided to forgo the contemplation.

Full-blown realization struck him cold, and he spun, gun half-raised, to stare at where his brother and the figment wearing his mother's face stood, one horrified, the latter grinning madly with triumph behind Dean.

"You?" Sam gasped, heart breaking and throat choking.

Still, it was only as Mary began laughing that he fully realized what a mistake he had made. Because he finally realized that something had indeed changed in this world, and he knew exactly what it was. Because he wasn't the demon, or hadn't been. Not any longer.

Now Mary was.

* * *

Before Dean knew what was happening, the latest addition was fighting himself and his father, and Mary was whispering terrible things in his ear.

And he couldn't help but listen to her, though he didn't really hear the words, more the idea. His head was… foggy, in a totally clear way, like all independent thoughts were leaving him, like something was taking control. He thought for a moment that he was being possessed, but he could still move every inch of his body, it was just that the only thoughts he could think were the words Mary gave him.

The idea that all this was not real, that the _other_… demon, or Sam, or whoever the hell he was, the other one wearing his brother's skin, was really his brother, was an idea that quickly fled. All questions implanted by the man now being held by… himself, they were all gone, fled or taken he wasn't sure. This was confusing, not helped by the uncertainty Dean could feel spreading.

"Kill him," Mary whispered vehemently, and Dean realized with a start that he had been ignoring her in light of watching the fight going on. With barely a struggle, he turned to face her, staring deep into her eyes as if he had never seen them before.

"He's evil, Dean. See him now, fighting your father." She easily made him ignore the fact that the evil psychic they had been hunting was fighting as well. "He's been making you crazy, sending you insane, all a part of his evil plan to kill you."

Dean found himself nodding, suddenly feeling so much younger than he was. It was so easy to fall back on those years when he had followed Mary's word like it was religious edict. Not that he remember those years, but that thought stayed where it had for the past two days, hidden in the clear fog. And besides, his mother made sense.

He turned back to watch the fight, suddenly feeling impassive as the man got up slowly from hitting the bookcase. He was hurt, Dean realized with a foreign malicious pleasure. Mary hadn't stopped whispering in his ear though.

"Kill him, I know you can do it. Take this blade."

Dean didn't look down, but felt Mary place the handle of the knife in his hand. It was only the coldness of the piece, strange when Mary had been holding into it for so long, made him look down. He didn't recognise the curved blade, but his mother had given it to him. He looked up at her, determination filling his eyes. She grinned savagely at him as he slid the knife into his belt, to keep it safe until he could use it.

And then the first gun shot echoed about the room and they both looked up in time to see John fading into oblivion.

Dean stood, terror and grief nearly striking him down as the fading translated into death in his mind. And then, as the second shot rang out, he screamed silently somewhere unrecognisable, as the beast wearing his brother's face disappeared into nothingness as well.

The leftover Sam spun to face them, and in his own horror, Dean missed the same emotion plastered all over the other man, though he saw the grief and took it for triumph. Hatred boiled in his heart, but the man seemed to miss it, staring as he was at Mary where she stood behind her son.

"You!" the man spat, choked with emotion Dean could only take as rage. Mary laughed, or he thought it was Mary, though he wasn't sure he had ever heard the cold satisfaction in her voice before. Something in Dean flickered in confusion, remembering what the man before him had said. Why was his mother laughing like that? How could she sound so… the word evil nearly touched his mind before the sound of the gun being cocked dashed it from his head.

"Get that face off," the man ordered coldly, voice choked once more, though this time it was more than definitely rage and hatred. Dean didn't feel the world blur, but before he knew it, the figure behind him had changed, and a cold, but male voice spoke from behind him, a higher version of the man in front of him.

"Is this better?"

The man in front of him snarled. "Much." And he pulled the trigger.

Only the shot never rang out. Before his finger had even touched the cold metal behind it, the gun had disappeared from his hands, not fading, just disappearing.

What was more, it reappeared in Dean's hands.

The man gaped, uncertainty flaring in his eyes. Dean didn't care, remembering Mary's words, though the fact that she had apparently changed into the man before them both was conveniently forgotten. He pulled the gun up and growled.

The man before him put his hands up while his replica laughed mightily. Both men ignored it, though for different reasons. Besides, it wasn't like Dean actually had a choice to ignore it. His mind was once more fogging up, only one thought clear. The man in front of him had to be killed. Mary had ordered him to, and he wasn't one to disobey.

The man before him shook his head. "Dean, come on. You know me. Don't pull that trigger."

The hunter took a tighter hold on it. "You're trying to destroy me," he argued. The man shook his head again.

"No, I'm not. I'm trying to save you. You're the damsel here."

Something at that tugged at Dean, and he lowered the weapon slightly. "What?"

The man actually had the gall to grin. "You're the damsel here." He nodded at the figure behind Dean, the one he was yet to look at. "That bastard brought you here, when you saved me from it. This is some kind of dream reality, and it has you stuck here. Me too, actually."

Dean gave a huff. "Well if you're stuck here, you're not doing a great job at rescuing me." But he didn't move the gun, higher or lower. "I don't need rescuing."

The man gave a sad smile. "I wish, big brother. But you're lying in a coma, and if you shoot me, you'll be in it until you die. Which shouldn't be too long."

"Shoot him!" the voice behind him suddenly ordered, and it was so commanding that Dean nearly did as he was told. The man before him flinched as he brought the gun up, and gained a look of desperation.

"Dean, please, you have to believe me," the man before him begged, looking the shorter hunter directly in the eye and ignoring the demon with annoying determination.

"Don't believe him," the same voice ordered from behind. Dean nearly look back, but found he couldn't, too absorbed by this other man who claimed to be his little brother. Could it be true? The thought was both freeing and devastating.

"Shoot him!" the man behind him screamed, and the other man broke his outward calmness to snap angrily at his twin.

"Just shut your mouth!"

_The place reeked of age and mould, and was barely lit besides the torch Dean held. He didn't need anymore to see the man standing over him, shotgun pointed at him, blood making small tracks from the taller hunter's nose. Dean wished he knew the significance of that._

"_For once in your life, just shut your mouth," the man was saying, so angry it was almost unnatural, the rage dancing and lighting fires behind his eyes._

"_What are you going to do, Sam?" Dean heard himself ask, heart thumping and face impassive. "The gun's filled with rocksalt, it's not going to kill me."_

_The shot echoed around the room, and Dean took the hit to his chest, in more ways than one, as his heart flared with betrayal._

"_No, but it'll hurt like hell."_

Dean gasped as he came back from the vision, and Sam knew instantly that he had lost, as the light dimmed in Dean's eyes and anger took over, making the older man tremble with its intensity. Revenge brought the gun up, pointed at his chest.

"This is going to hurt like hell," Dean spat, and horrified recognition filled him.

The shot echoed around the room and Sam was blown off his feet.

* * *

Again, sorry about the lack of replying to emails, I swear I will try tomorrow night!


	13. Chapter 13: Awakening

**Author's Note:** Again, sorry for last night, I got real busy, and then I got real tired, and then I got kinda cranky… so, yeah. And if I still haven't replied to your reviews, I'm working on it. I like to thank each of you, cause you don't have to review, but you do anyway. It's great!

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Chapter 13: Awakening

The hospital room was deathly silent, every person in it unmoving, whether they were unconscious or not.

Laura looked up at Morgan who knew immediately what she was after. "It's just after one."

She groaned, and turned back to give Sam a shake, knowing it wasn't going to work. She was right. They had tried already to bring Sam back, though the psychic had guessed from the moment Sam had been pulled fully into the dream that it would be no use. She had been right about that obviously.

Suddenly Sam's body jerked, and Morgan jumped, going for his weapon but having enough nerve not to draw it. But besides a small gasp that only Laura heard, the young man didn't wake.

The two left behind shared a look and turned back to the brothers, praying. It was the only thing they could do.

* * *

Sam gasped for breath where he had fallen, his chest on fire, heart hammering away. He hadn't lost consciousness, thank God, but he almost wished he had. Taking rocksalt to the chest was incredibly painful, and he knew now why Dean hadn't exactly been in the mood to talk that day over a year ago. Besides his obvious hatred of 'chick-flick moments' that was.

Giving a cough he struggled to sit, before falling back down. Not just from the pain though. No, the double barrels stuck in his face had a little something to do with it.

"You little bitch," Dean spat at him, quivering still with rage. "I knew I shouldn't have trusted you!"

"Why?" Sam demanded.

"You shot me! You tried to kill me!" Dean told him, spitting it. Sam stared him directly in the eyes.

"I was… brain-washed," Sam explained. Then he gave a reckless grin. "Does that mean you believe those flashes are real?"

Dean gaped down at him, before snapping it shut with wonder. Sam could almost see the thoughts whirling in his head.

"It doesn't matter," the demon snarled, coming closer. It had a handgun in it's grip. Giving Sam an evil grin, it spoke to Dean. "He's still evil, Dean. And you still have to kill him."

Still deep in thought, Dean didn't seem to notice that the demon had taken the shogun from him and replaced it with the much more lethal handgun. Sam swallowed, fear beating wildly. He wasn't about to die. He refused to. He refused to let Dean live with it for the rest of his life, however short that was likely to be.

"Dean, I'm not evil," he denied. "I'm your brother. And I'm not sending you those flashes. They're very real, and they're completely yours."

He wasn't sure if Dean had heard him: his brother seemed lost in thought, his eyes narrow with concentration. He had to get him to break through his own brainwash. Before he tried to kill his brother.

"Dean," he said softly, and it pulled the older hunter's attention to him. Dean took a deep breath, so low Sam almost didn't hear it. "Please, all you have to do is remember. Remember… the night Mum died. You carried me from the building. The same when Jessica was killed. You saved my life. You've saved it so many times…"

Dean was frowning, but Sam knew it wasn't a good thing. Dean was struggling to remember those times, but Sam got the feeling it was like clutching at the air. You couldn't catch what you couldn't see, what you couldn't feel. Unless it pushed at you first.

Inspiration struck Sam. He was going about this the wrong way. Dean wasn't a sentimental sap. And when they came close to anything even resembling chick-flick, they had one thing to turn to.

Sam gave a deep grin, and Dean cocked his head in amazement that the man could do so when he was facing death in the form of a gun he had used so many times before.

"Jerk.'

* * *

The man who claimed to be his brother smiled up at him and Dean couldn't believe the temerity of him.

"Jerk."

Dean leaned back, taken aback. That was all he had time to feel, before he felt the all too familiar flashes take his mind away…

_The apartment was small, and more than likely temporary, but neither stopped Dean from leaning intently over his homework, nor from him wishing he could do exactly as Sammy wanted and go outside and play._

"_If I come home with another detention, Dad's going to kill me, Sammy," he informed his pouting eleven-year-old brother. "No go find something to do you little bitch."_

_There was no spite in his words, but Sam's mouth still opened wide, unable to believe Dean had used a naughty word in front of him, let alone aimed it at him._

"_Yeah, well…" The kid looked around, as if the sparsely decorated room would offer inspiration. But it gave him nothing and Sammy turned to the worst insult he could think of. _

"_Jerk!"_

* * *

Dean was on his knees, gun lying discarded by his side. Sam was sitting up, eyes wide as his older brother panted on the floor, eyes glazed as his mind forced him to remember. It didn't look pleasant, and he wondered what memories Dean was sifting through.

Standing above them both, the demon-as-Sam held its mouth open in a silent shriek of loss.

_

* * *

_

The alley was dark, but that hadn't stopped either brother from kicking ass. As the creature disappeared into dust, Dean looked down, smirking as the remains covered Sam where he was sprawled on the floor, the creature having been taking advantage of Sam's ungainliness over his latest growth spurt.

"_Saved your ass again, damsel," Dean gloated as he gave his little brother a hand. Sam scowled at him._

"_Only after I pulled it off your head, jerk."_

"_Bitch."_

* * *

Dean was subconsciously clutching at his head now, obviously not aware of anything but what was going on in his own mind. Sam scrambled to his knees, taking Dean by the shoulders and hoping he had done the right thing. But it would take both of them to kill the demon. He needed Dean free from its manipulations.

At his touch, Dean looked up, and Sam gasped at seeing blood dripping from his brother's nose. His grip tightened.

"Come on Dean," he encouraged.

_

* * *

_

The motel room was a mess, and had obviously been abandoned for days. Dean felt like he remembered it, but independent thought was lost as he put his hand out, only just becoming aware of the gross smell coming from his own clothes.

"_No chick-flick moments."_

_Sam grinned and half ducked his head. "All right… jerk."_

_Dean only grinned internally. "Bitch."_

* * *

Suddenly the demon screamed, and Sam flinched at the high-pitched shriek, never taking his hands from Dean, offering any strength he had and wishing he could really give it to his brother.

"No!" the demon wailed, trembling, shaking, obviously losing strength. Sam turned to Dean, ignoring the curses and cries the demon was screeching now.

"You can do this, Dean!"

_

* * *

_

They were in the Impala, Dean was driving, Sam was shaking his head. "Jerk."

_Dean grinned, and drew out the word, "Bitch."_

"_Jerk." – _

"_Bitch." –_

_Jerk, Bitch, Jerk, Bitch –_

_Bitch – _

* * *

"Bitch!" Dean whispered, suddenly coming to. Before him Sam sagged with relief, and the older brother looked up at him with a sheepish grin.

"About time, Dean," the younger man said, his relief taking any spite from the words. But it wasn't like they had time to celebrate.

"NO!"

The demon screamed it, and the hunters scrambled to their feet, turning to face their foe, as one. Sam could hardly believe it, could feel the triumph swelling in his chest. Not that he had time to dwell on it.

The demon loomed over them, reminding each just who's reality it was. The demon seemed to be growing, getting bigger while remaining exactly the same size. The brothers took a step back.

"So we have to kill it?" Dean asked, assuming that was the case, getting right to the job and overlooking his recent brainwashing. Sam nodded, and the demon boomed a laugh.

"Try, then," it suggested, voice deep, far deeper than Sam's own. Then, in a far more sinister tone, eyes narrow with rage, "I dare you."

It didn't give them the opportunity. One flick of its eyes, and both brothers went flying, in opposite directions. Sam hit the wall and bounced to the floor, gasping for breath.

* * *

Things had been quiet in the hospital room when suddenly Laura cried out, taking her hand from Sam's shoulder and standing barely moments before the door opened.

Doctor Ellis walked in, stopping as he took in Laura and Morgan. His jaw dropped. "What the hell are you doing here? I said no one else but Sam…"

He trailed off as he saw Sam, most definitely unconscious, head lying on Dean's bed. He seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, before he noticed the bruises.

He turned to Laura and Morgan, who were sharing an anxious glance. "What the hell is going on here?"

"You wouldn't believe us if we told you," Laura told him sternly. Ellis' face went white with anger.

"I'm calling the cops. Real cops," he added with a shrewd glance at Morgan. The cop winced and pulled out his gun.

"I'm really sorry, doc, but I can't let you do that."

Ellis dropped the phone as he saw the gun pointed at him, and when, if possible, even whiter. "Don't be an idiot, Morgan," he warned. Laura shook her head, moving to close the door.

"You'll understand soon, Doctor Ellis," she promised as Morgan moved the doctor from in front of the closed curtains. She hoped she was right.

* * *

Sam struggled to his feet, thankful to find Dean imitating him, though the older man was pulling the curved blade Mary had given him from his belt, holding it easily. The demon saw it and gave a pause. Then it grinned, and flung its arm out.

Sam got the idea that they were still way out of their league when Dean crashed into the same bookcase as he himself had earlier.

When Dean didn't get back up, Sam swallowed, knowing this wasn't good. He felt the chills down his spine as his own face turned to meet him, every murderous thought clear in those icy brown eyes that didn't fit in Sam Winchester's face.

"You, I'm going to kill nice and slow."

* * *

So, Dean's saved… sort of. Can they get out of the dream though? Dum dum da!

Oh, and ah, tomorrow night is, ah, the last post. I was going to tell you all earlier, but I kept on forgetting. So, conclusion(s) tomorrow night, aka the last two chapters.


	14. Chapter 14: Demon's Death

**Author's Note:** So, last chapter, and this'll probably be my last AN for False Beckoning. I hoped you enjoyed reading it as much as I loved writing it, and thank you sooooo much to every single person who reviewed, you have no idea how awesome they are… unless you write yourself, then I expect you know just how awesome they are.

**

* * *

**

Chapter 14: Demon's Death

Sam backed up until he was at the wall as the demon approached him. For a moment the complete insanity of the situation threatened to overwhelm him with giggles – he was about to be murdered by himself. But he subdued them and waited for the demon's attack

He didn't have to wait long. The demon practically flew at him, and Sam ducked, relieved he had when the demon's fist went through the wall.

He spun away, making sure he was facing the demon at all times. He needed a weapon or something. Because he sure as hell wasn't going to defeat this demon with his fists.

Not that he wasn't going to try.

The demon came at him again, swinging wildly with its fists. Sam ducked them both, before standing up and driving his own fist into the demon's gut. It didn't do anything, and the demon used Sam's shock to his advantage, shoving an uppercut so hard up under Sam's chin that shards of light blinded him as he flew through the air.

To his relief he landed on the bed and the only bit that hurt about that was rolling off it to land on the floor. Still dazed he struggled to his feet, aided once more by the demon as it grabbed his shirt and dragged him to a stand.

It was only so it could punch him again, but this time Sam was ready. Knowing he couldn't block it, knowing he lacked the strength, he stumbled to the side, shaking his head to finally clear his vision.

Suddenly he tripped, as he walked backwards, and fell, landing awkwardly on the arm that was injured in the real world. He gave a wince, and looked to see what had caused his fall. And then cursed the damn shotgun that he would have been grateful for a moment ago.

The demon stood over him, utter bemusement clear on its face. "You have no idea the reception I'll receive for ridding the world of the Winchester brothers," it gloated over him.

Sam snarled and got to his feet, holding his arm gingerly. "Careful. You haven't killed us yet."

It waved its hand. "Details." It grinned. "Besides, you're the one I really want to kill."

Sam's jaw dropped. "What? Why?"

"Because you can get into my dreams." It raised an eyebrow at him. "Do you know the frustration you've caused me? I mean, you almost distracted me while I was taking that girl, with your sudden appearance in the dream – I couldn't believe it when she saw you. I suppose I should be grateful you were only halfway in and couldn't actually do anything."

It shook his head, and then glanced back at where Dean was still lying unconscious on the floor. "And then, of course, there's all your interference in Dean's dreams. Making him remember all those things. Actually popping in for a chat, while he was in hospital."

"Showing up here," Sam added, and then paused when the demon shook his head.

"No, I wanted you here. I mean, sure, I was angry after my botched attempt on dragging you here, dosing you with my own special medicine, that would distract you enough to get you in, to keep you alive long enough to suck every ounce of life I could… but you and your brother really are good at screwing up my plans. So I took Dean, and the more I thought about it though, the more I realized how perfect it was."

Sam saw immediately. "You wanted Dean to try and kill me," he breathed, looking at Dean's prone form. The demon nodded.

"I knew you'd come after him, especially after you realized that you could. Like I said, you Winchesters have this need to save people, it's rather predictable. But I knew there was no way you weren't coming. I just had to convince Dean you were evil, let him kill you… I would have been killing two birds with one stone. Or two Winchesters, as it were. You would have been dead, you and your damn annoying psychic powers, and Dean wouldn't have been far behind once I released him and he realized what he had done. Now that would have been fun to watch."

"So the others, can they enter dreams as well?"

The demon snorted. "A bigger bunch of closed-minded fools I've never met," it announced in a demon's usual haughty tone when talking about humans. "But they were tasty. Strong willed. Not as strong as you or your brother, but that'll make your death all the sweeter."

To its obvious surprise, Sam grinned up at it. "Like I said, we're not dead yet."

The demon's grin deepened until it was quite evil. "Like I said, details."

And it lashed out, punching so hard that Sam went spinning, sprawling on the ground. The demon picked up the shotgun and laid it at Sam's forehead where he lay on the ground. Refusing to be cowed, Sam stared up at it, unafraid to stare death in the eyes. He knew at this range – no range at all – even the rocksalt would kill him.

The shot never came. Sam waited with bated breath, but suddenly the demon's eyes widened, and it stood up straight, spinning. It caught Sam by surprise. It certainly caught Dean unawares where he had been coming up behind it.

It used Dean's surprise against the older hunter, arm snaking out to grab Dean by the throat. Sam tried to attack, but it barely twisted its head and the younger man flew into the wall, falling to the floor.

Dean went to slash with the knife, but the demon merely grinned, catching his hand and holding with the ease of a man over a kitten. Dean's mouth thinned in indignation, then pain as the demon twisted his caught hand and he was forced to drop the knife. Sam was still lying on the floor, unmoving. Dean hoped this latest brush with a wall hadn't done anything to his baby brother.

And then he wasn't hoping anything as the demon's grip on his throat tightened, and he clutched at the fist, even as it drew him closer.

"So I have to kill you first, do I?" it asked in a deadly whisper. Like his brother before him, Dean refused to be cowed by the icy steel in those all too familiar eyes, but couldn't respond for lack of air. "That's okay. It's not like it matters. It's not your dream anyway. It never was. It was always mine."

And then the demon brought him even closer, and Dean couldn't help it. His mouth opened, and something shifted inside of him. The demon's mouth opened at the same time, and Dean's struggles ceased for a moment as that black cavern of a mouth came forward to swallow him up.

* * *

In the room, Ellis was staring with mild fear at Morgan, as the cop kept half an eye on him, when suddenly the doctor gasped.

Laura, who had been checking on Sam, looked up and stumbled back against the wall, hand flying to her mouth to cover a scream. Morgan was the last to see it, turning and dropping his gun as he watched it.

It being the black cloud suddenly coming into existence above Dean, spinning wildly as it grew, as it spread.

"What the hell is that?" Ellis demanded, but no one answered him, clinging to the wall as the shadow consumed the light in the room. The sudden darkness finally forced a small squeak out of Laura, a strange noise from the older woman. And then they all saw the silver light. It illuminated Dean's face, impassive as the light drifted from between his closed lips and the ventilator shut down. Sam's head was still in darkness, but they all knew he didn't move as a crooning melody took the room and the demon began sucking the life from the older brother.

* * *

A soft, wordless, soul-wrenching song was what woke Sam from unconsciousness. He lifted his pounding head, all too aware of the fire on his chest, the ache in his arm, the bruises, ribs that were probably fractured. But as he opened his eyes and groaned, all that paled into insignificance.

Because the demon was holding Dean by the throat, and his older brother was lolling helplessly in its grip, mouth wide open, the life being sucked from him as Sam lay there and watched.

But the knife glinted promisingly where Dean had dropped it, and Sam had had enough of this bitch of a demon.

* * *

Dean wasn't really sure what was happening. He barely remembered the demon sending him into this dream, but the song that filled his ears and mind with thoughts of not resisting was all too familiar.

It was beautiful and terrible all at once, drifting through the white fog that was all he could see. A white fog that was slowly dimming. He knew it was only dimming because his life was. He was dying, and he wasn't even trying to fight.

Suddenly the song changed, cutting off before starting, like a CD skipping. And then it stopped altogether, not fading away, but snapping to a close with such suddenness that Dean felt himself falling to his feet, doubling over, coughing, before the fog had had a chance to dissipate.

When it had, he gave a savage grin. The demon, Sam's features blurring as blood dripped from its mouth, was still in front of him, hands by its side, eyes glazing over as the life left them.

And behind the demon stood Sam, the real Sam, face grim, one arm around his double's shoulder, a small wince on his face as he wrenched the curved blade upwards. Dean watched its movement – it had gone all the way through the demon's torso – with a slight frown at Sam's spiteful need for revenge, but didn't say anything. The demon deserved everything it got.

Slowly, oh so slowly, the demon-as-Sam faded, leaving behind an empty spot and blood coating Sam's hand. Dean shared a victorious grin with his little brother before something snapped at him and he yelled as he fell through nothing. He barely felt the landing.

* * *

The shriek as the demon curled in on itself made the lights in the room flicker, though Laura was certain no one outside the room could hear that horrible noise. They all ducked and covered their ears, but the demon only continued curling in on itself, shrieking as it died, really died. And then it was gone.

The sudden silence seemed wrong and heavy, and the three stood up, Ellis a lot slower than the two used to similar supernatural events. He was still in the dark, though only metaphorically as the dim light in the corner flickered back on.

Laura and Morgan looked at each other, sharing weighted, guarded looks. Ellis looked between the two, then took the opportunity to dive for the gun on the floor.

A sudden gagging noise interrupted him, and he stood back up to see what phenomenon was occurring now. He had no idea how right he was.

"Dean!" Morgan called out with relief; Ellis could only watch, stunned, as his comatose patient continued choking on the tube stuck down his throat. That was, until Laura whacked him on the back of the head.

"Doc, your patient needs some help," she reminded him, and, shaking a little, Ellis moved forward, doing as he was told. Five minutes later Dean could breathe properly and was shaking his little brother's still unconscious body.

"Hey, Sam, time to come back," the patient said gently, before looking up at Laura, panic starting to show. Ellis was watching the exchange with something close to a nervous breakdown, with no clue as to what was happening.

"What's wrong with him?" Dean asked Laura, who shrugged, biting her lip. Dean's frown deepened and he leaned forward, far too healthy and aware, Ellis thought, for a person who had been so close to death. "Hey, Sammy, nappy time's over."

Still nothing. Ellis was beginning to worry himself now, though it didn't show over the worry he already held for his and his companion's insanity. Dean frowned, before obviously thinking of something and grinned. He leaned close to Sam's ear.

"Hey, bitch."

The result was almost comical. Sam's head snapped up and he blinked sleepily, looking around at his audience.

"Did it work?"

Ellis frowned as Laura smiled. "Actually, Sam, it did," she told him as he began working his injured shoulder. Her relief was palpable. Sam looked around to Dean and grinned with the same relief. Ellis felt a surge of frustration.

"Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?"

* * *

And now the complementary ending with all it's explanatory glory.


	15. Chapter 15: Leaving Lafayette

**Chapter 15: Leaving Lafayette**

Neither brother would have admitted ever going to the garden to contemplate their recent experiences. But the garden was becoming a haven of sorts, for those who were troubled.

Early that morning, after returning, somehow having found a way to get away from the vast array of doctors, Dean escaped there, sick of being prodded and poked, sick of the word miracle being thrown around. These asses didn't have a clue what a miracle was.

The miracle was that Sam hadn't asked him any questions about the world he had found his big brother in. The opponents the Winchesters had faced. Or rather, opponent.

Seeing the form in the window, peering into the garden searching for him, Dean began thinking he had spoken too soon.

"We have to stop meeting like this," Sam joked as Dean made room for him. The younger hunter looked around the garden as he sat down. "People will start thinking we actually like all this colour."

"Can we leave yet?" Dean asked, not responding to Sam's relieved but still pathetic attempts at amusement. The grin dropped off Sam's face.

"I'm working on it, Dean. Just trying to find Ellis might take a week in itself. He's really freaked out after last night."

Dean wasn't surprised, but he didn't answer either. Sam sighed, and the older brother could feel his sibling working up to the reason he had come looking for Dean in the first place.

"You know, when the demon was trying to push me into its reality… it started taking every thought and memory I had, and began moulding it into the world it thought I would die in."

Dean shifted uncomfortably. "Look, Sam -." The other hunter cut him off.

"Dean, I know your world wasn't one you were meant to die in. It was meant for me. But why… why would it make me evil?"

The unspoken question hung between them, Sam unwilling to believe it, Dean unwilling to speak it. _Why did _you_ make me evil?_

Dean thought frantically, though his face was a picture of calm. "Mum died in your nursery Sam. That in no way means it was your fault," he added, seeing Sam's eyes die slightly. "It was that damn yellow-eyed demon. But the dream demon twisted it. If Mum hadn't gone up there, maybe the demon would have taken you."

"Did you ever think that?" The question popped out before Sam could stop it.

The older brother sighed. "Yeah, when I was younger, I used to. But then I began to realize… there was no way I would ever have swapped you for Mum."

Sam's jaw dropped. For Dean to admit that… for him to say it out loud… "Wow."

Dean gave a small, huffing, short laugh. "Yeah. God, how'd we get here? Next you'll be hugging me."

Sam wasn't willing to let it go that quickly, though his guts shifted with his discomfort. "So I was only your demon because of the idea that maybe, just maybe, the demon would have taken me if Mum hadn't interfered?"

Dean felt the weight of John's secret nearly crush him, though he managed to keep a politely perplexed look on his face. Sam had no clue of any of the emotions tumbling through him.

"Of course, why?"

Sam stared at him, almost wishing he had Laura's powers so he could read Dean's mind. Almost. "No reason. Just curious, that's all." He got to his feet and put his hands in his pocket. "I'm going to try and find Ellis again, see if he's got those papers."

And he left without another word, and Dean knew the entire conversation would be shoved into some black pit somewhere deep, never to be spoken of again. And he and Sam would be fine, because that was Winchesters for you. Strong-minded and dumb enough to think they knew exactly when to ignore something so monumentally huge that it could threaten to unravel their family for a final time.

* * *

Dean managed to be released the next afternoon, signing the forms and heaving a sigh of relief as he slipped his leather jacket back on. He grinned at Sam.

"Does this mean we can leave now?" he asked his little brother. Sam grunted.

"If it had been up to me, we would have left ages ago. But you had to go get yourself stuck in a dream world didn't you."

Dean failed to mention it was Sam who had been the one the demon had been after, but grinned deeper. "Lucky I had baby brother to come rescue me, huh?"

Sam raised an eyebrow at him. "You actually admitting you needed rescuing?" he asked incredulously. Dean shrugged.

"Don't make too much of it, it's not likely to happen again. Besides, you're just making up for all the times I've saved your behind, Sammy."

He looked around the room, making sure nothing had been left behind. Then, shutting the door behind him, they began the walk out of the hospital.

They took the long way around, for two reasons. One, they were grateful to Doctor Ellis for doing everything he could have possibly done for saving each of their lives. But the doctor, understandably freaked over the supernatural occurrences the night before, had been almost all too happy to release Dean and was now avoiding them like the plague. They understood, even if they weren't happy about it, and had no wish to aggravate the good doctor further.

Two, Jarrod Conway was on the long way, and they wanted to check on him one last time, to make sure the guy had no lingering side effects after days trapped in a dream reality.

Sam had almost forgotten about the man until Laura had pointed him out that morning when she had forced the hunter down to the cafeteria to find something to eat. He had woken the night before, having apparently forgotten any details of his time in another world. Sam supposed that was a good thing. But when he counted back the days, he realized they had killed the demon just in time for the man.

Both brothers couldn't help but feel relieved as they stepped from the hospital, taking in the bright sun and busy street. Morgan was waiting for them outside, Laura by his side. The psychic had been the one to convince Ellis not to press charges on the cop for holding him at gun point, after pointing out that no one would believe the doctor anyway. _Good thing she's so forceful_, Sam thought.

"I heard that Sam," she told him as they neared. Sam just grinned at her. She hadn't been happy that he had lied to her about Dean recognising him.

"So you two actually managing to leave town?" Morgan asked, all too aware of the brothers' cabin fever during their hospital stay. Dean nodded.

"We've just got to go back to the motel, grab our stuff and then we are out of here." And not a moment too soon, he didn't add, though judging from Laura's pursed lips, she had heard it.

"Just make sure you come and visit. Under less… unpleasant circumstances, anyway," the older psychic told them both. "Don't go dragging any more dream demons into my life, please. I plan to grow very old."

"We will," Sam told them both sincerely. Laura only sighed. She knew there was actually little chance of them coming back to Lafayette. She didn't tell that to Morgan though, who nodded.

"If you ever need any help," the cop added. "Just give me a call."

Dean nodded, then looked to Sam. "Ready to hit the road."

The relief was easily read on the younger Winchester's face. "Born ready… Jerk."

"Bitch."

* * *

And thus ends False Beckoning. The next story might be a while, and it might not be a follow-on of this one, see how I go. Anyways, just wanted to say for a last time, thanks to everyone for reading. See you next time!


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